Short of Perfect

Going Veggie...Because I'm Ready

2011-06-03T10:59:00.000-07:00

Last summer, while working with LA to start breaking down my food rules and start expanding my preferences, I mentioned I wanted to become a vegetarian.

LA glanced up at me from the meal plan she was carefully developing, stared at me for a moment, and replied:

"Let's just work on expanding your diet a little right now, okay?" And she returned to writing.

I frowned. At the time, I did not understand her response at all. If I wanted to be a vegetarian, why couldn't we just omit meat from my meal plan? If my whole diet had to be rebuilt anyhow, couldn't I do it the way I wanted to?

One year later, I've made the connection.

Given that I was only eating about five things (most of which were just variations of raw vegetables) at that point in time, cutting out a food group while moving forward was probably not her preferred strategy.

I actually was a vegetarian at one point in my life. As a teenager with a brother and dad who hunted and ate pretty much anything with a heartbeat (er, a terminated heartbeat, I guess?), an uncle who raised cattle and hogs for my relatives to "buy", and a house with various unidentifiable meats stored in the deep freezer (usually from hunting trips and/or a recently slaughtered "pet"), I steered clear of meat until I went to college.

Sometimes, I would eat meat if prodded, teased by my family or relatives, or just to be accomodating. However, when given the choice, I would generally choose a plate full of greens or pasta over Bambi or Spunky or Brownie any day.

In college, I ate meat because: 1. choices were limited on campus, and 2. I was not constantly reminded that the end product was derived from a bullet in my brother's gun or the animal to which I had just fed grass the week prior.

Currently, however, I am about two months into my return to vegetarianism. While noshing on my veggie, feta, and hummus pita recently, I reflected on this choice and whether or not it is something I want to stick with...or even should stick with given my recent history with food restriction and disordered eating.

In a variety of situations (many now personal and not at all eating-related), LA has challenged me to focus not on a particular action or decision, but on what is actually driving my choice. The choice itself, as she points out, is not necessarily "healthy" or "unhealthy", but sometimes the motivation leading me to the action can be.

For example, when I still wanted to run the Little Rock Marathon despite a multitude of stress fractures, she did not automatically support this decision until I reflected upon and could explain my motivation for doing so. Once she could see evidence that I had truly sat with the decision and thought it through, she supported my decision wholeheartedly and stepped in yet again as my biggest cheerleader.

This I love about her.

Through my close bond with LA, I have learned to process through a lot of life's decisions in this way. So while pondering whether or not cutting out a major food group is a smart choice for someone with a past restrictive eating disorder, I naturally started by examining my motivation for doing so.

What I decided is that LA's efforts to keep me focused on eating a variety of foods was absolutely the correct approach. I had established a history of eliminating major food groups, one by one, until I was essentially eating nothing (and still purging the "nothing"). My motivation for wanting to return to a vegetarian diet last summer was, without a doubt, in an effort to maintain control of my diet and resist LA's efforts to rebuild my nutrition. It was a last resort, last ditch effort to keep my obsessive focus on food.

I had to learn to eat again without the obsession before I could truly make any sound decisions about my diet. LA (and now JN) have helped me approach food without judgment, eat driven by hunger cues, and let go of any preconceived notions about "right" or "wrong" choices. I learned to eat freely again, and because of that, I am now in a place where I can decide what I want to eat based on true preference, not restriction.

Currently, I am about two months into eating an almost entirely vegetarian diet. I can honestly say I enjoy eating this way for several reasons, none of which are driven by obsession, weight loss, or control.

Having gone through some fairly intensive nutrition therapy, I now understand food and nourishment better than I ever have. For this reason, I am actually better equipped to eliminate meat from my diet and still meet my nutrition and energy needs. I approach meal planning with a natural awareness that has taken time to develop, but it is that awareness that helps guide my choices and ensures balance with regards to ingredients, nutrients, and energy sources. I've acquired enough knowledge in this process that I can now listen to my body, determine what is lacking, and make choices based on that intuition.

I have always enjoyed the process of cooking (it was the eating part that became a problem) as a creative outlet, and eating a primarily vegetarian diet over the last few months has once again sparked my love of food and natural ingredients. When in the depths of my eating disorder (and even for a few months while learning to eat normally again) I stuck to "routine" or "safe" foods, and was only eating about a dozen individual ingredients and foods. As LA helped me break down my restrictions, I started to expand the list more and more each day until very few foods provoked guilt, anxiety, or purging. Ironically, while eating as a vegetarian (and therefore elimintating a group of foods), I've been forced to create new strategies for recipes, seek out ingredients I would normally not eat, and expand my food list.

I am now truly enjoying the process of selecting foods I enjoy, cooking, and eating. This is a therapy team's dream for a eating disorder client, I'm sure; a major success that is not measured by weight gained or loss but by lifestyle and happiness and intuition and all that other intangible stuff that just makes my team melt.

My fear in posting this is that someone else with a tendency towards restriction may use eliminating a food group (or following a dietary "lifestyle") as an outlet for control or to mask disordered eating under a more socially acceptable label.

If that is the case for you, I challenge you to examine the motivation behind your choices, just as LA has challenged me to do many times before. For the choice itself is not necessarily indicative of an unhealthy lifestyle or pattern; rather the thought process behind it has the potential to be.

Had I refused to eat meat last summer while under LA's guidance, that decision would have been for all the wrong reasons. Now, that same choice reflects growth, awareness, and a newfound ability to listen to my body and make healthy choices that are right for me and preference-driven...not based in a need to control, achieve perfection, or lose weight.

Most of us can justify nearly any choice we make in life. The hard part is telling ourselves the truth behind the "why".

Triggered

2011-05-20T13:09:00.000-07:00

I knew this time would come, but I did not think my ability to eat would be crippled by it. Not at this point in recovery, not after all the work I have done and hours I have spent to establish a healthy relationship with food no matter what.

But the time has come: a big, BIG trigger that has sent me spiraling into the kind of severe obsession cycle I thought I would never, ever experience again.

The trigger (let me retype that with a capital T: "Trigger") was a new rule about food in the office. A rule that, to most, would normally be met with the usual groaning, followed by a careless shoulder shrug once the initial venting subsides. But as hard as I tried to do the same and "set an example" as one of the leaders in the office, it was only a matter of days before I slid back into some seriously disordered thinking while trying to function under a new set of expectations.

The motivation behind establising the new rule is not necessarily something I disagree with: some of the desks within our office are in an open environment, and that set-up (existing within the already-casual environment of a college campus) lends itself to some level of unprofessionalism as people chow on their lunches while seating at their desks. Often, students are greeted by a receptionist whose greasy, fast-food smorgasbord is only an arm's length away. Sure, we were probably in need of a "professionalism makeover" in the office, specifically related to the amount of food being consumed at workstations.

Because several people in our work environment struggle to exist within shades of gray, the New Food Rule was presented in black and white: No food present in the office. No food at desks. No food in sight. Food only behind closed doors. The senior staff members (which includes me) are to set an example.

I didn't see it coming at first, but after four days of the following battle playing out in my head, I could see trying to exist within the new expectations was a recipe for disaster:

(These bullet points should be read as one big run-on sentence in order to even begin to understand how this all plays out in my head...and to really walk in my shoes, feel free to play it in your head for at least 6-8 hours a day and tell me how exhausted you feel):

It is 10:36 and I need to eat my apple and cheese.
I have an office with a door. Should I shut my door during a time when I am supposed to be available to those in the office? But if I do, I will need to shut it for at least 20 minutes because I have to eat the apple and cheese slowly, because if I eat it too quickly I will feel full, and when I feel as though I've eaten too quickly and feel full, I will not want to eat my lunch. And if I dont eat my lunch, I am heading for relapse...and....and....and....fuck it, this is too much stress and too much to think about and I cannot eat this damn apple in the office so I'm not going to and just forget about it...
My stomach is growling. JN and LA taught me this means I'm hungry. I needed that apple. Ok, I will take a bite of it. But when someone who does not have an office door walks by I will feel elitist and horrible, and I'm supposed to be setting an example as a leader in the office and they are watching me...and, okay, I'll take one bite.
Shit! Someone just walked by twice and I have the apple and cheese out on my desk. Should I shut my door? But I CAN'T! What if people need me?!?!
Food = BAD
Hunger = BAD
You eat way too much. No one else needs an apple and cheese in the morning. Just wait til lunch. Everyone else is fine. You should be too.
You are different. You are a pain in the ass. You are the exception. You don't want rules to apply to you? What is wrong with you? Why can't you behave?
Wait! JN and LA tell me I need that apple...shit, it's already in the trash...
I'm not getting any work done, but my mind is reeling about food, weight, guilt, AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!! Make it stop!!!!
Now it's lunch time. Shut your door. You're used to eating over the course of two hours but you're just going to need to figure this shit out. You're a leader. Set an example. No one else gets to eat all day. You need way too much food, you fat slob. Get it together.
(Behind shut door) Hurry up and get this food down, you have to open your door, people need you. You work in education and should be helping people. You need to set an example, be a leader, work harder. Get the food down and open the door!
Screw it. I cannot eat this fast, I am totally stressed out by all of this (and why won't my brain shut OFF!!!????!?!?). Tossing the lunch in the trash.

....and it goes on...and on...and on...

When the process of eating becomes too complicated, too complex, too overwhelming...it's way too easy for someone in recovery to turn her back on it. And that's exactly what I started to do.

I was, of course, provided with accomodations that allowed me to eat throughout the day despite this rule. Now, I am not a person who likes "special treatment" and fairness and equality are two values I hold in high esteem, so the fact that I showed up for myself enough to even pursue that option means I obviously care a little more about my recovery than I did at this point a year ago.

But even the "exception to the rule" threw me into an obsessive, anorexic cycle that I lost control of almost as soon as it began. The FOOD = BAD/ FOOD = GUILT/ FOOD = SHAME messages started coming on at full force. What if others who are under me see me eating? Will they think I am "above" the rules? Isn't it elitist to have food on my desk when they cannot? And those messages very quickly morphed into:

Something is wrong with you.
No one else needs to eat all day.
You should feel guilty when people see you eat.
You are a terrible leader if you eat at work.
You do not need food.

By this morning, I was a malnourished puddle of tears and my eating disorder had crippled me to the point that I could not even face the work environment I love so much. I was done. I could not go in without some serious coaching to convince me that, um, feeding myself is still a positive concept. So I started placing desperate phone calls to JN, LA, Dr. Joe (left messages for each of them) before Big Sis K intercepted my hysteria over watching my hard-earned recovery slide down the tubes under these a new set of expectations and rules.

What the hell. Who knew I'd be stopped dead in my tracks by an office food rule?

Well, apparently, this came as no surprise to JN and Dr. Joe, both of whom have graciously assisted me in pulling out of this mess of a trigger.

JN helped me see that the new set of expectations triggered all the negative feelings I used to hold about food: That I am somehow "bad" for needing to eat. That my hunger is not natural and should be ignored. That eating should bring about guilt. That I must not eat to "set an example" as someone who has a second job in fitness. That food needs to have rules and they must be strict and I deserve to pay (read: purge) when I break them.

Wow.

The parallels to my eating disordered mentality were glaringly obvious once she pointed them out. I have worked so hard to reverse this mindset, but the reality is that the distortion remains and still pulls me in when triggered.

Dr. Joe met with me this afternoon to work through the psychological piece of this mess, which helped me understand this big trigger even more:

*Flashling Lights!* BIG Connection Here:
When I first began working with Dr. Joe, two of my main values were pleasing others and earning respect.

The new expectation in the office related to food put my directives to eat and overcome food rules in direct opposition to these values. As a result, I didn't know which to pick.

IF I ATE: If someone saw me eating outside of the expectation, I would appear as "above the rules", and therefore not please those above me and not be able to earn respect from others in the office setting. Translate to an eating disorder patient: Food is totally not worth the hassle.

IF I DID NOT EAT: I would be setting a good example by following the rules. I would lose weight. I would get more work done. I would have my door open and be able to maintain open communication with my student assistant and coworkers, which I enjoy. Translate to an eating disorder patient: Food is totally not worth the hassle.

An anorexic, if she is not careful with her thoughts, can talk herself out of eating at the slightest notion of inconvenience. It was a recipe for disaster I should have seen coming.

But as with most triggers...I will miss them until they throw me off track.

Dr. Joe spent an hour with me today breaking down each and every message that is in my head at the moment about eating. I now have a counter-attack for every possible scenario this damn eating disorder could throw at me under this new set of expectations. I feel armed and ready to go.

I'll be having a nice (pre-planned) dinner out this evening with LA to get me back on track.

I'm glad it's Friday. Anorexia is kicking my ass this week.

As JN said to me last night: There is a reason recovery is extremely hard. You really have to work for it sometimes.

Ain't that the truth.

How "Recovered" Am I?

2011-05-18T10:29:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, Dr. Joe gave me an article on eating disorders in which the writer (a psychologist specializing in the treatment of anorexia) pondered the question "what does 'recovery' really look like?". I was asked to read this article and reflect upon it for my next appointment, which I did primarily to uphold my title as Perfect Patient (that statement is dripping in sarcasm, as I gave up on perfection months ago). As usual, however, other minor catastrophes and chaotic happenings popped up in between appointments and therefore hijacked the therapy topic train. Needless to say, we have not yet had the opportunity to discuss the content of article or, more importantly, what "recovery" looks like for me.

I caught myself thinking about this today after the idea of purging crept into my head out of nowhere. I have been, for the most part, eating whatever seems right to me and actually trusting my body's hunger cues. As a result, I have settled into a very healthy weight and maintained it without restricting. I can honestly say it has been almost two months since I've engaged in any sort of anorexia-inspired behavior, so the intense "need" to throw up a bite-sized Snickers bar I had eaten caught me by surprise. The fact that purging popped into my head as an acceptable way to manage my insecurity over what I had eaten infuriated me...I thought I was over this?

Most people who have never struggled with intense distortion related to food cannot comprehend the emotional magnitude of these obsessive ED episodes. For me, my automatic impulse to control my food intake kicks in, and a "mistake" such as eating a miniscule Snickers bar has the potential to send me spiraling into another starve-purge cycle if I let my guard down even for a moment.

So I guess I am not over this, per se. Although I may never be. Like any addiction or negative pattern of behavior, the psychological aspect to the disease still exists even when the behaviors diminish. "Recovery" really means no longer acting on the distortions, coping despite them, and conciously stopping myself from skipping meals or throwing up the tiniest Snickers bar on the planet just because my brain is telling me to.

A relapse into starvation and rapid weight loss is always standing right behind me; I just have to conciously fight the constant urge to actually turn around and greet it when it calls my name.

And people wonder why I need to drink so much Starbucks. This whole recovery thing requires a lot of energy, people.

It's a waste of that energy to get mad at myself when an "eating disorder" thought pops into my head or when my brain tells me purge a miniature piece of candy. The fact that such thoughts suddenly appear in my head doesn't mean my recovery efforts aren't working; rather the fact that I am able to dismiss the thoughts without action serves as the true litmus test for the strength of my recovery.

I used to think (until recently) that recovery meant eliminating all aspects of an eating disorder: medical, psychological, behavioral. I somehow believed I would not become a success story until my life was completely rid all things "anorexia". But in reality, that day may never come. Hence, it is silly to measure success and recovery against such an unrealistic standard. It's really about fixing the medical damage, modifying the behavioral patterns...and simply managing the psychological component so I can avoid eroding the progress made in the other two areas.

Similar to the desire to purge the candy, I have had other distorted "thoughts" recently that did not morph into eating disordered "actions":

I felt a strong urge to cut my food intake immediately after catching a glimpse of "fat" (in quotations because I am not entirely sure if it's there, I cannot actually tell, as we all know) on my body while trying on potential race outfits at Dick's Sporting Goods the other day.

I found myself mentally calculating the number of calories burned while running 13.1 miles at an 8:30 pace in an effort to not "overeat" the night before the Pittsburgh Marathon last weekend (as if you could really "overeat" as an endurance athlete...ah, distortion at its finest).

I considered not eating dinner last night after realizing I had eaten some candy and a cookie throughout the day, as well as a small dessert the day before.

In each situation, I found myself getting angry and disappointed in myself for thinking that way, as if the thoughts alone proved to me that I still have work to do or that I am somehow not making progress. I have even gone so far as to think, at times, that I should be pursuing additional treatment...something has to make these thoughts go away!

In reality, there probably isn't a strategy in the world that will cause these thoughts to go away. They stem from an eating disorder I will more than likely always "have"...like an alcoholic who will always want to drink, but has to work hard each day to fight against from the magnetic pull of the bottle.

So maybe the fact that I...

...did NOT cut my food intake in half after trying on running clothes at Dick's Sporting Goods...

...did NOT use the caloric expenditure of a 13.1 mile run as the basis for my pre-race dinner choice...

...did NOT skip dinner last night even though I wanted to...

And...

...did NOT purge the Snickers bar, even though my mind told me to...

...means I'm more "recovered" than I think I am.

2011-05-17T09:24:00.000-07:00

Rarely do I link directly to the blogs of others, but I stumbled upon two of Carrie Arnold's (ED Bites) recent posts that resonated with me:

Marathon Metaphors (uses the last miles of the marathon as an analogy for the latter stages of ED recovery)

Trauma and Recovery (explains the growth, change, and transformation that occurs through recovery)

Props to Carrie for sharing her insight on these two topics. Great minds think alike, apparently!

Untwisting the Lid and Unleashing...ME

2011-05-16T16:34:00.000-07:00

As my recent posts explain, the current phase of my own personal recovery from anorexia involves accepting not only my new body, but the person that lives inside it day in and day out. It's now about owning who I am, what I look like, and what I set as priorities in my life. Regardless of the size I am or how much weight I gain or lose, what's living within will remain the same. So it's time to learn to love it.

During this phase and with the help of the unconditional love and support of some key people in my life I have arrived at a place in which I am no longer apologetic for the person I truly am.

I have, many times in my life, apologized for being intense, driven, or aggressive. I have, at times, bit my tongue, held back, or downplayed my competitive nature. I felt as though these qualities somehow eclipsed other, more "positive" characteristics; that I could not be a caring, sweet, loyal person while simultaneously chasing my goals with focus and determination. Seeing these firey aspects of my personality often led me to hate who I was; why could I not just be nice and passive and content?

Well, thanks to this latter "phase" of recovery, I can now own what's actually living in this body. No more apologies. Love it or hate it, I am aggressive. Driven. Intense.

I am also loyal, genuine, and caring. I do not climb over others to get where I want to go. I respect people, and my competitiveness rarely leaves victims lying in the dust I kick up as I take off towards what I want. I'm the first to celebrate the success of others, and I get a rewarding thrill from igniting fire in others and watching them achieve despite obstacles.

So, yes, it is possible to be both.

I ran another half marathon this past weekend (not surprising). I love the half marathon distance, and have ever since I started running a little over a year ago. In fact, my first race ever was a half marathon- quite a reflection of my personality, as most runners start with shorter races and add distance over time.

I will admit that after running my first full (26.2 mile) marathon back in March (and while injured, mind you), my motivation took a nosedive. I had achieved The Goal of running a full marathon, and I no longer felt like the only runner who had yet to cut that notch into the imaginary belt some of us runners feel like we wear when asked "so...what distances have you done?". I worked through some trying running-related experiences in the months following my first marathon: horrible training runs, residual pain from injuries trying to heal, and an overall lack of motivation that, at times, actually kept me off the roads.

But as yesterday's race approached, my natural and innate passion for competition started to creep back up. I really, truly have fun when I run. However, I have also never been one to back down from an opportunity to achieve a goal. This race was no exception, and as much as I tried to push down my natural aggression and desire to kick some ass, the more that flame sparked and grew.

This inner battle between my natural inclination towards achievement and my self-imposed "put-a-lid-on-it" restraint (often self-imposed after someone has criticized me for being "too much" or "too competitive") is what confirms to me that: 1. yes, there is some kind of bizarre fire in me 2. I do not know where it comes from, and 3. I need to embrace it, feed it, and tap into it without apology.

Like so many experiences in my life as of late, I approached yesterday's half marathon using the new approach my team has taught me: be the most authentic version of myself and don't apologize for it.

I wanted to run a kick ass race. I wanted to push it and crush my goal. I wanted to experience a high at the finish line. So I f%&k-ing did.

I ran that race in a zone, and did not look around. I sprinted down the downhill portions to bag time for the inclines. I passed people left and right and sprinted straight through 13.1 miles, motivated by the kind of pure determination and aggression I can tap into when I really, really want something. And I ran those 13.1 miles in one hour, 52 minutes: a goal I didn't think I could reach until the end of this summer.

And the result was one of those great moments I draw strength from: the high I gain not from the achievement, but from knowing I was 100% myself and resisted the urge to "temper" my true self. I wanted to run an aggressive, exhilarating race. I did not care if anyone viewed me as overly competitive, overly focused, or putting energy into something relatively "meaningless". It felt right to me. So I went with it.

When I stopped trying to talk myself out of what felt right to me, I got to experience the amazing high that comes from putting everything I had into a two hour run.

When I stopped trying to talk myself out of what felt right to me... I started to recover from anorexia. From self-destruction. From self-hate.

Almost the second I crossed the line, however, the switch flipped. I had friends running the race too, and my thoughts immediately shifted to them, their successes, their celebrations. Yeah, I can be a raging, narrowly focused beast ("Badger", as my friends call it) when I want something. But I can love like hell too and the most aggressive version of my inner beast is reserved for those who mess with the people who have proved their loyalty to me and stand with me through triumphs and failures. Ultimately, sharing our successes with those we love produces the ultimate "win".

I am never going to qualify for the Olympics or put my job aside to play sports for a living. At the end of the day, competition is just a hobby, an outlet for my energy and intensity. Some may view my approach to life as too intense, and that's okay. After spending the last year learning to embrace my genuine self, I can now see that this determination can be used for good (turning dreams into realities) or bad (starving myself in pursuit of perfection).

Either way, the fire is there. It is part of me, and it's been given to me for a reason. It just took this recovery process to accept that it exists as part of my nature, to harness its power, and to use it to get what I want out of life and not destroy myself instead.

We are just not meant to "put a lid on it". Rather, we are challenged to open up, go for what we want, and put it out there for the world to see. A lot of energy exists under the pressure of that lid.

Unleashing it can help us overcome insecurities, experience memorable highs, and develop the confidence to be who we really are...not who others want us to be.

The Birthday Mentality: 365 Days a Year

2011-05-02T19:38:00.000-07:00

This past weekend falls within the Top Ten Moments of My Life.

Other moments that fall within this category are my wedding day, my first marathon, and just about every single trip I've ever taken with my girlfriends from graduate school.

Friends can attest that I have never been a birthday "partier". In fact, my birthday (excluding #21, which was one hell of a bash) is typically celebrated rather intimately and the plans are made by others around me who seem to care a lot more than I do. I'm sure this general downplaying of the day of my birth can be traced back to my rocky relationship with my mother, my shockingly low sense of self-worth, and my general attitude of mistrust in people, but we'll let Dr. Joe create those connections.

However, my approach to birthdays has always been this: Anything involving MY birthday belongs to me and me alone. I do what I want and I really do not care if people do not like it. The other days of the year, I may be a little more willing to compromise...or at least not kick and scream.

Recent birthdays have included the following celebratory I-do-what-I-want events:

Birthday #28- Spent two hours locked in a local community college testing center taking the hardest exam of my life to earn my personal training certification through the American College of Sports Medicine. Certainly not a party, but I wanted that license badly and didn't care if it was my birthday or not...I was taking the damn exam. The Mr. and I celebrated this achievement with dinner at a cheap Mexican joint (because, well, that's what I wanted), me in sweats and without make-up. I'm certain I purged that meal anyhow, as I was in the depths of anorexia at the time and really was not puting effort into anything but trying to destroy my body (obviously reflective of my self-worth at the time). Happy birthday to me.

Birthday #27- Phone calls, emails, text messages coming in weeks in advance as my friends try to make plans with me. I turned them all down, persuaded my husband to go on a long bike ride, went to a nice dinner, and was in bed by 11:00. I believe I met three of my good friends a few days later for a casual Sunday lunch on the dock of a lakeside restaurant and that was that.

Birthday #26- Took the day off work and shopped all day...solo.

There are more of these lame (okay, not lame, but kind of when compared to the birthday nights out my friends tend to favor) stories, but I'll stop there because that is not the point of this post.

Bottom line is: When it's my birthday, I do what I want.

It's no understatement that my 28th year was one of the toughest on many, many levels. Let's face it, when I suddenly realized I spent the majority of an entire calendar year either in the presence of or in constant communication with a doctor, a dietitian, and a therapist, I was ready to bury 28 and ring in 29 with a new approach.

I kept the "I do what I want" mentality when planning out this weekend, but it was taken to a whole new level. Nothing was going to stop me from being ME for three days straight:

1. Friday night: Joint Birthday Party- My running friends are some of my closest. An eclectic group of individuals who would probably never interact with one another under normal circumstances, we share an unbreakable and close bond crafted entirely from our love of this ridiculous physical activity.

There was no doubt in my mind that I wanted to celebrate my birthday with this second family of mine, so when I realized four of us had birthdays within weeks of one another, it provided me with the perfect excuse to plan a large group dinner at a restaurant many of them had been wanting to try.

Many hours of laughter and intoxication later, I found myself in the passenger seat of our car (The Mr. was driving, of course, a rare role reversal after a night out), looking up at the stars and thanking god for connecting me with such an awesome group of people who accept the Genuine Me, laugh and carry on with one another like family, and support one another through all of life's peaks and valleys...both on and off the running course.

Saturday- Everything I Love in One Day: I ran a (dehydrated) long run of 13 miles with a friend. It was beautiful outside. In between my "I really need to get back into training" and "why did you do that last shot last night?" thoughts, I felt a sense of appreciation for this breathtaking area and the fact that I am able to spend my weekend mornings killing my legs in a National Park trail system I love so much. Pure. Bliss.

This run was immediately (well, I showered first) followed by an outlet shopping excursion with three of my girlfriends, during which I discovered I am now, apparently, a pretty solid size 4-6 and somehow avoided a total breakdown. To my surprise, the fact that I had to purchase work pants in a larger size did not throw me into a tailspin; rather I shrugged it off and reminded myself that I'm an athlete, I'm active, and that I need to eventually figure out my natural weight setpoint anyhow. My calm acceptance of this situation was bizarre, yet not at all coincidental that I was able to put poor body image and distortion aside when feeling secure, loved, and happy among friends...

After shopping, I kept the promise I made to myself during the Great Closet Cleanout and rid myself of a pair of shoes, two tank tops, a pair of pants, and sweater. A one-for-one tradeoff to make room in my now-minimalist wardrobe for the newly purchased pieces.

Then, another dinner/drinks night out on the town. I had organized this one to include other close friends (mostly outside of the running circle), and met ten of them out for dinner and drinks at a restaurant that has played host to many of our special celebratory moments: graduations, bachelorette parties, births, anniversaries, and the like.The group, some of whom had never met, and I closed the night with more laughter, more conversation, more martinis, and more wine at another nice establishment down the street.

I went to bed that night feeling a new kind of full; the fullness that doesn't necessarily come from food, but is derived from simply being oneself, yet reaping the benefits of solid, unconditional friendships with those who have watched me transform...and loved me even more for it.

Sunday- Drying Out/ Enjoying Some More: Despite my second morning of party-induced dehydration, I crawled out of bed at 7:00 AM to meet the girls for a trail run in the rain. I have no idea where this kind of motivation comes from, but it's just who I am and I guess I don't have to understand it...only embrace it.

On this particular run, M, who is normally a bit of a nature-hater ("Someone really needs to come clean this trail up because it is MUDDY") wanted to climb a giant hill on an unfamiliar stretch of the park system to "see what was at the top". After dragging ourselves up a relatively untraveled path, we found ourselves at one of the highest peaks in the park system. Standing in the quiet rain, surrounded by nothing but the outdoors I love so much, I suddenly realized life is as close to perfect as it's ever been.

An hour later, I found myself (no longer covered in mud and transformed into the publicly acceptable version of myself) at lunch with E., my new coworker and friend. The instant trust and mutual respect she and I have established has been a wonderful gateway into yet another new friendship, and we later joined other coworkers for a theatre production to support one of our charismatic student assistants.

Dinner and a movie at LA's house with her family capped off the day, allowing me to unwind surrounded by a family that has become like my own, in a house that I feel comfortable enough visiting in my sweats, and on a sofa I am known to fall asleep on from time to time.

Which brings me to today: a planned vacation day (I never take for granted that I can take these just about any time I want) and one of my biweekly appointments with JN.

It was in the comfort of JN's office this afternoon that I realized the significance of this pre-birthday weekend, and was convinced that adopting The Birthday Mentality as a way of life will help me walk away from this eating disorder once and for all.

Food (as well as how, when and why I consume it) is obviously JN's main concern as a dietitian/body image guru. However, as I have learned throughout the recovery process, my actions and thoughts related to food practically rip the bandage off any emotions I'm trying to ignore or suppress.

In reading my account of this weekend's activities, you may have been searching for a food reference: my thoughts as I indulged in back-to-back dinners out, how I used my running to compensate for my "indulgences" or the like. But you didn't find any...because food (and the obsessive ED thought process related to it) was virtually non-existent as I lived out an entire weekend founded in The Birthday Mentality: I do what I want.

I am who I am. I do what I want.

I ate what I wanted. I wore what I wanted. I said what I wanted. With the exception of a few friends who 1. couldn't make it, or 2. live far, far away...I gave time, energy, and attention to the people I wanted, those who take me as I am and enjoy every minute of it.

I am so Me right now, it's scary. But I love it.

Which brings me full circle to the body/food piece (the foundational subject matter of this blog!)...

Without realizing it, I have begun to adopt the so-called Birthday Mentality 365 days a year: living a genuine life, eliminating guilt, dropping the self-imposed bar from perfectionism to happiness. Given how strongly I now feel about this approach to living, not accepting my body for what it truly is seems downright hypocritical.

I can't be Me all the time if I keep trying to change the shell, the packaging. I need to let it be. The packaging needs to match the product...real, lacking judgment, genuine.

The Birthday Mentality is going to be sticking around. JN and I agree...it's the best way to ensure that I am living and eating based on intuition. Every day is now my birthday. Which means the next 364 days need to be approached with the "I do what I want" (read: I eat what I want, I listen to my needs, I put my own self-care first, I surround myself with those who respect me). And on May 3rd of next year, I will renew that commitment and continue on into the next year with the same Birthday Mentality. And the next, and the next.

The Birthday Mentality is about really owning who we are, what we need, and shedding the crap. It's about saving our energy for the people, experiences, and relationships that fall on the priority list on the one day each year when we allow ourselves to just BE.

Being ourselves, doing what feels right, and reflecting our priorities. Not caring what others think. Living as we truly are, without apology...

...365 days a year.

Listening to My Body...And It Wants Chips

2011-04-26T20:00:00.000-07:00

Why the hell am I suddenly drawn to potato chips? There is a massive bag of them sitting on the back counter at work, and they are pulling me in like a moth to a flame.

While food (especially the junk variety) holds an almost sacred place in my office, my colleagues do a piss poor job of preserving it. The industrial sized bag of chips (truly- as it was donated to the office by a student of mine who works at the Shearer's factory) was "sealed" shut with a barely twisted metal tie as we fled the office at 5:01 last Friday afternoon.

Regardless of the fact that everyone's germ-infested hands have now been in the bag at least a half dozen times and the chips are now stale from two days spent absorbing the office air, we continue to munch on them mindlessly as we wait for the copier to spit out our duplicates.

I spent all weekend ridden with anxiety over what to eat at our multiple Easter dinners...but for some reason, stale, germ-infested potato chips are passing the ED test.

I really have no explanation for this behavior. Except that I'm starving lately and if I eat "intuitively" (JN buzzword) I would probably consume 10,000 calories (mostly comprised of potato chips) in one sitting. Because that is what my "intuition" is telling (no, screaming, actually) me to do.

Despite all the medical issues, psychological battles, therapy sessions, and forced nutrition...the moments that have reversed me back into a kicking and screaming little brat have been those involving real, genuine, physiological hunger.

Hunger genuinely pisses me off, even though I know this rebellious response defies everything I have been taught while learning to feed myself again. I do not like being hungry, and my life was "easier" when I had trained my body to not feel hunger, to ignore it, to function without food. I frame the word "easier" with quotation marks, as it was really quite the opposite; I just couldn't see it at the time.

Why would hunger piss off a formerly anorexic person? Well, because I now have to respond to it. And not only respond to it (which in and of itself feels unnatural and wrong), but try to apply "new" and "healthy" strategies such as listening to my body, eating a variety of foods that cannot be found on the fallback safe list, and warding off the anxious ED voice that tells me I need to get rid of it all immediately anyhow (fading, yet still lingering).

When I was first starting to eat again, I didn't have to listen to hunger cues. In fact, quite the opposite. I had a plan. I followed it. I ate at set times and stuck to recommended combinations of foods. I ate regardless of whether or not I was hungry, and any opportunity for overthinking was removed from the process. Eating the plan = Happy Dietitian, Happy Therapist, Happy Doctor. Unhappy Patient...but that didn't really matter.

I thought that's what "recovery" looked like. Eating meals. I'm putting food into my body...isn't that what you people want, for chrissake?!

Eating intuitively (or following the cues of the body) is one of the hardest things for me to wrap my head around. Although my relationship with food is much healthier than it once was, I still tend to view food as a means to an end. I eat the same foods a lot because I know what is in them and can eat them mindlessly. Mostly, the combinations are carefully thought out and calculated: protein because I am an active person who needs to build muscle mass again. Carbs because I need energy. Fat because LA once convinced me I need it. However, I rarely incorporate things because I just crave the ingredients or the texture or the taste. In my ED-conditioned mind, food is still somewhat scientific.

Hunger also brings with it the sheer annoyance of cravings that fall outside of my habitual food routine, and the internal battle that occurs as I think through whether or not to follow the cue (although I should be following it each and every time, according to JN, but I'm not there just yet). Case in point: the potato chips. To eat or not to eat. The question can be mulled over for hours and hours until I realize: 1. I'm out of my mind and just need to give it up all ready, or 2. I'm incapable of listening to my body and therefore reach out to LA, JN or some other person who just tell me what to do...and they will tell me to eat the goddamn thing...and then I will.

Lately, JN and LA gently push me towards intuitive eating. I'm in the later stages of recovery where I really do need to learn to eat and function in the real world. While I'm sure they thoroughly enjoy my panicked "OMG, I think I need a cookie right now so what should I do" texts, they could probably pick up new forms of entertainment along the way. While intuitive eating makes a lot of sense to me in theory, the actual practice of such a thing often seems bizarre, given some of the cravings that hit me like a ton of bricks. Does my body really need potato chips? Is there ever really a time when my body "misses" brownies so much that it just has to have one? What ingredient in chocolate chip cookies is my body not getting elsewhere?

Weird.

The key to this, as I've learned, is viewing all foods as neutral. LA used to preach this, and now JN has picked up this crusade right where she left off. No food is "good"; no food is "bad". That's a hard lesson for a recovering anorexic to learn when magazines, talk shows, television commercials, and weight loss television shows sing a different tune.

However, I can no longer act like I don't understand why my body is craving such things, thanks to a conversation with LA today during which she reminded me of some of her earlier teachings:

1. My body is, quite frankly, sick of the safe foods. And I'm getting kind of sick of them too. So it's probably time to switch it up a bit. Shake it up. Live on the edge and have some chips.

2. After a recent dip in eating (yeah, I lost a few pounds but have restored them after realizing I was heading straight for intensive help yet again if I didn't cut it out), my metabolism is recharged and ready to go burn up some food. Chips, specifically.

Given the fact that most individuals (stereotyping a bit here, although clinicians do it too which makes it okay) who fall into the spiral of disordered eating are slight (ah-hem) perfectionists (cough, cough), chucking the plan out the window and trusting the body isn't exactly a natural course of action. Toss in the fact that I once trained my mind to ignore my body's cues, and, well, learning to eat intuitively is a little like driving without a GPS. On a highway with no signs...or gas stations to inquire about directions...on a different continent...

I'll get there. Patience has just never been a virtue of mine.

On the body dysmorphia front, I'm, well.....trying as best I can. Today, I could've sworn my arms had lost all muscle tone in the last three days and I had suddenly become doughy and soft. I also convinced myself I could feel my (nonexistent) stomach jiggling as I walked down the hallway at work. I was later brought bakc down to earth when I realized I was still wearing the same size jeans I've been wearing for the last four months. Big sigh of relief.

I have to be okay letting my body achieve its natural setpoint. This I know and I vow I will let it happen. But it doesn't mean it is a pleasant experience in the meantime.

Looking to bitch a little to someone who gets this kind of insanity, I fired off a text to JN late this afternoon: I'm trying very very hard to believe I do not have fat arms right now. Imagine me with my eyes closed, thinking really hard. I probably look like the 4-year-old version of myself trying to make a birthday wish. I was super cute back then, BTW.

I didn't hear back from her right away, so finished up my day at the office and headed to my second gig at the gym. When I finally retrieved my phone from my bag, she had written back: I know you were cute. Still doing okay with that, ya know ;) Keep paying attention to emotions and expressing them effectively. Strong relationship to distortions here.

Me: Oh. Well, I feel better now that I ripped my arms up at the gym and taught a cycling class.

JN: Oooookaaaaay. Not quite what I had in mind.

Me (even though I know better, but just playing around): Oh. Damn. I thought that's what you would suggest. My bad.

Perhaps I need a WWMDD band for my wrist.

What Would My Dietitian Do?

Signing off. My body wants some orange juice before bed. Must be lacking vitamin C or pulp pieces or something. Who knows, but what the body wants, the body is supposed to get.

Permissable Purging

2011-04-18T08:16:00.000-07:00

What, you think LA or JN gave me permission to throw up food? Um, no. I'm talking about a different type of purging. No worries. I'm eating. Sit back down.

When you're forced to re-examine your life, make sense of it all, and become a freer and better version of yourself (this process is known as therapy...everyone should go through it, although overcoming an eating disorder is not my recommended path), you learn to shed almost everything that you once hid behind. You stop editing, stop watching over your shoulder, and start living the most honest, genuine and true life you could have ever imagined. You, essentially, become YOU. All caps. No mincing. No acting. Just the real YOU.

The best part of that very process is developing the confidence to not really care anymore what others think, and to follow the path you know feels right, natural...unforced.

Of course, there have been growing pains as I've started to shed the crap and heal from years and years of anger, mistrust, resentment, and self-destruction. To a critical eye, one may assume I have "changed"; the irony is that while it appears as though I've transformed...it's really quite the opposite. I am now the closest to the genuine ME I have ever been. Anything that has fallen away, "changed" or been tossed aside was, as I've come to realize, not part of the original package to begin with. It was like the shiny label and fancy exterior used to distract from the flaws of the product held inside.

For years, I shopped. I shopped like crazy and spent money and always had an overabundance of clothes, jewelry, bags, shoes. I was known for having whatever was new, never shopping the clearance racks (because that stuff was outdated and unwanted...obviously). It carried over into my demeanor and approach to life too. Always striving to be polished, professional, play the "political" games I needed to play as a (very) young person trying to move up quickly. I had to be that way. From 18, I swore I'd never return home to the chaos and instability I came from. So I adopted the persona of someone who was so "together" that my success in life was nearly guaranteed.

Well, fuck that. Because I really wasn't together at all. I carried so much anger, so much self-induced pressure, and an utter lack of appreciation for the person I really am. And the battle of trying to "be" something so counter to my genuine self, frankly, wore me out. It caused me to run myself into the ground, starve myself in the pursuit for perfection, and exist in a constant state of overdrive.

I've taken many, many steps recently to shed the garbage. I have pulled those whom I love in a little closer, and held those whom I do not trust a little further away. I have opened up and give, give, give...and I love it. I take the time to listen, to do what is right, and to invest only in those things in which I place value and meaning. I dump my energy into my passions (work, sports, relationships), and waste very little of it on anything that isn't worthwhile.

The last step in this purging was not necessarily the most difficult, but delayed only because it required time. But while battling a cold this weekend, I found the time to dive in head-first...and purge my material belongings.

I'm not talking about a seasonal "let's clean out the closet" mini-purge. I'm talking the fundamental, simplifying-of-my-life-for-good kind of purging that only someone who has come out on the other side of some serious trauma and therapy can truly understand.

I got rid of it all. At least 3/4 of my wardrobe (yes, you read that correctly: 75% of my wardrobe). Shoes. Bags. Jewelry. EVERYTHING. Am I left with anything? Sure. Only what I love and wear regularly. And I need nothing else. I truly need nothing else.

See the thing is...I'm not a clothes horse. I'm really, genuinely not. Sure, I like to look nice for work and to go out with friends. But that's about it. I'm more of an active person who likes to get muddy and run miles and miles and miles, someone who is not afraid to swim in a lake, likes adventure and outdoors and competition. I like to sweat. I like to feel like I've accomplished something, I enjoy the thrill of LIVING...not dressing for living. Sorry, that's just who I am.

Friends joked with me this weekend that this won't last long, that my closet will be filled again soon.

Nope.

Like I said- this is not your run-of-the-mill spring cleaning. This is me. This is the back end of therapy, where I have finally come to realize that I used to pour anxiety and anger into buying stuff, starving myself, overworking to death. Sure, I'll shop. I'll buy things I love and will wear over and over and over again. But I can promise you a good chunk of the money I spend in the future will be invested in other people. In helping those who don't have it. In acknowledging the people whom I love with tokens of appreciation or help when needed.

Not a new version of me. Just ME.

This "permissable purging" of my material belongings produced some other "ah-ha" moments too, most of which were unintended until JN pointed out the fact that the "cleaning of the closet" is a major step for someone recovering from anorexia. Amidst the keep-toss-donate piles that had formed on my bedroom floor, I was forced to subconsciously accept my body and size for what it is now, what it may never be again, and what it could be in the future.

I realized this weekend, while trying to decide what to keep, just how small my "sick" sizes really are. Various pairs of pants were barely big enough to fit over my thighs (and if you know what I currently look like, that really puts it into perspective, as I am still a very thin person). I can remember a time when some of those pants- though they are the smallest size carried by most stores- were too large and needed to be held up by a belt.

I was taking slow steps towards extreme sickness and potentially death. I didn't realize it at the time.

It was humbling. And a little frightening. So much so that I told Big Sis K, LA, and JN how much it scared me to realize how sick I used to be.

With my main goal in mind (to keep as little as possible), I was forced to pick a size. I really could no longer keep six different sizes in my closet while trying to go the "minimalist" route. So I picked the size I currently am, and one size bigger to allow for some flexibility. The rest- bigger and smaller- were given away.

Living in the moment. A new concept for someone like me.

JN's text from Sunday morning (after the massive closet purge) reads:

Awesome that you got rid of the clothes. It's not who you are anymore. Very powerful step. It's important to have clothes that fit right now because it communicates acceptance.

I've accepted who I REALLY am: Fiercely loyal to those I love. Honest. Driven. Unmaterialistic. Generous. Empathetic. Opinionated. Independent.

I've accepted my new size (though I of course struggle with it at times).

I've accepted that those who matter most will never, ever leave. And that there are some people will just be who they are and my only obligation is to either accept them as is or let them be.

This is the kind of purging I could get used to...and I don't think any member of the team would try to intervene.

Fat Is Not a Feeling, People

2011-04-14T10:31:00.000-07:00

Except when you battle an eating disorder. Then, fat is as real an emotion as the rage you possess when someone (usually a medical professional or counselor who has graduated from the School of Eating Disorder Therapy) tells you it is not.

I know- really do know- that fat is not a feeling. While we ("we" being pretty much everyone regardless of size or level of distortion) have each pinched a side, stared in the mirror, or put on an outfit and either thought or said to ourselves: "ugh I feel so fat!".

How do you feel in that new dress? -Fat
How was that meal? -Great, but I feel so fat!
I don't want to go to the beach. I feel so fat today.
Get your hands off me. I feel so fat right now.
We're not going out tonight. I feel fat in these jeans.

We FEEL fat at times. But anyone who has ever worked through an eating disorder knows..."fat" is indicative of something else, another emotion. In recovery from anorexia, we're taught (as much we hate it) to crack the code behind the word "fat". Fat often = Depressed. Overwhelmed. Stressed. Unloved. Insecure. Inadequate. Anxious.

JN says the statement "It is weighing heavy on me" is not just a cliche reference people toss around. We actually feel weight on us when we are experiencing some kind of strong emotion or reaction to life's challenges and struggles.

Yet, even when this thought process becomes automatic...I hate it. And fight it.

Yesterday, during a highly anxious moment over eating pasta at lunch (the kind of madness only a fellow ED person or professional trained in this area could truly understand), JN texted me something perfectly inspirational, prodding me to explore the emotions attached to once again feeling "fat".

I responded:

J- Thanks. Nothing makes me want to punch a dietitian more than a "fat is not a feeling"reference.

How an ED moment can turn me from a perfectly professional, mature twenty-something to a temper-tantrum-throwing, moody, bratty pre-teen is beyond me. Somehow, though, the stars aligned perfectly when I was handed over to my treatment team, and they simply absorb these blatantly honest (er, bitchy) reactions from me like the tolerant, amusing sponges I have grown to love.

JN: Love it! I know it's annoying but so true.

Just because I was feeling fiesty and embracing my bratty moment, I pushed a little further when I sent JN:

Ok, so if fat is not a feeling...can I just say I AM fat?

JN: Sure. If you want to feel awesome and avoid real issues :)

I had to laugh. And then I snapped out of my bratty preteen-ness and re-entered my daily crusade to fight ED-inspired thoughts of fatness.

I have no idea how these people continue to put up with me. But they do. And it reminds me why they are the team for me.

Fat is not a feeling. Word.

In other news, Dr. Joe is off running a marathon in Europe, which has left me high and dry without a therapist for two and a half weeks. While I'm annoyed (not that he is not here, but that I myself kind of want an international marathon medal to add to my collection), this is providing me with an excellent opportunity to grab recovery by the balls and attempt to conquer the crap without his guidance and motivation. Eventually (while I will miss Dr. Joe immensely when the time comes), I will need to be a fully-functioning, independent, "formerly eating disordered and messed up" person. So this is a trial run. Time to see if the work has paid off at all.

While I've struggled a little without him around to field my crazy emails or talk through some completely distorted fear of fatness, I can tell that working through the garbage in my life has paid off immensely. Getting rid of the crap (the emotional baggage, the resentment against my mother for being such an unrealiable individual in my life, cleansing my life of negativity, and the list goes on) has freed up the space necessary to allow in those whom I trust, to give freely of myself, and to walk away from the things that do not contribute positively to my life.

No wonder I felt "fat" before, and sometimes still do. Holding onto all that emotion has and continues to weigh me down a bit.

Ever notice how you feel lightest on your "happy" days? I have too. Even though the idea of it still makes me want to punch the nearest dietitian...I think they might be on to something.

The New Social Eating Theory According to Me

2011-04-07T13:06:00.000-07:00

Having experienced a few ED setbacks in recent weeks, I find myself reassessing what works and what does not when it comes to pulling me out of lapses. It's been Dr. Joe's goal all along to gradually decrease not only the number of anorexia relapses I experience, but also the amount of time I spend lying there at rock bottom when I'm gripped by them.

One of the best things I have done for myself in recovery was permanently tattooing XXVI.II (26.2, for those of you who are Roman numeral illiterate) on my body. Sounds like a trite "lifesaver", and I even received a comment from someone that alluded to the fact that the inking "lacks meaning" (Ha! If they only knew...). However, it has become a constant reminder that I am tough as nails, can overcome just about anything, and have a reason to stay strong and healthy.

Aside from the permanent reminder on my body, I've also drawn strength and empowerment from the realization that my fear of food diminishes when I am within the comfort and company of others. This may come as a major shock to those of you who have read this blog since the beginning...What? But she used to HATE eating with other people!".

And you would be correct. I used to burst into tears at the mere suggestion of eating amongst people, at restaurants, or at family gatherings. I used to have to "work it through" and "come up with a plan of attack" with people like LA and Dr. Joe to get me through those moments; social situations were never as easy as "show up, talk, eat" like they are for normal people.

But we all eventually change and grow, do we not?

The turning points in this latest dip, actually, happened as a result of some social situations. I started to realize, within the last couple of days, that chowing down with friends is now a great way to shift the focus away from food. Not to mention, the sound generated through conversation with dining companions (if you will) drowns out the ED voice in my head that is screaming "DO NOT EAT" at the top of it's lungs.

Recent Situations That Back This Non-Scientific Theory:

#1: Last Friday Evening
The Location: An Undisclosed Sports Bar Serving Food I Do Not Eat Without Panic
The Group: Grad School BFFs

The Situation: Some moderate panic over eating pizza (usually not a problem unless I'm in a bit of a relapse). Semi-anxious texts sent to JN, LA, Mama K, to which they all responded with some variation of "eat slowly and focus on the people". So I did. And managed to scarf three slices of pizza, a salad, and a glass of wine. Left filled with food and love for my long-time friends...aaaaawww (Cheesy, I know! But true and ED counselors and dietitians eat shit like that up).

#2: Last Saturday Evening
The Location: A Backwoods-y Winery in the Boondocks
The Group: Neighbor BFF and Our Mutual Friends

The Situation: Among friends and taking cues from their food choices, I marched up to the bar and ordered spinach artichoke dip for me and The Mr. (whose jaw pretty much hit the floor, as he usually has to persuade me to eat such a thing). I ate it. In between fits of drunken laughter at the "girls' end" of the table, noshed on some cheese and crackers. More wine. Four glasses in, had dinner: potato soup and a turkey panini. Wine consumption continued. Laughter continued. Mild panic the next morning, but no purging and an 8-mile trail run with more friends helped me forget about the "Major Binge!" (which I know was not really one at all). Case closed.

#3: Monday Evening
The Location: My Dining Room Table
The Group: Me, The Mr., The Dog

The Situation: The Mr. stayed home from bowling league, warding off a minor cold (this is where we differ and know it...I run marathons with fractured bones, he bails on bowling league for a runny nose). I therefore stayed home from the gym (where I typically reside on Monday nights) and cooked us a meal from scratch. I set the table, poured wine, and spent some quality time over the stove making whole wheat penne with roasted vegetables and tomato pesto, Greek salad, warm bread. We chatted as I ate an actual meal. I watched as The Mr. ate a "guy-sized" portion of food and felt okay about what I had consumed by comparison. Cleaned up the kitchen, went to watch television, and forgot all about the food I ate. Allowed it to digest like a normal, non-anorexic person and got a virtual (emailed) pat on the back from JN in the morning for my efforts. Did not even work out that day and still was able to let it go. Yay me.

#4: Tuesday's Lunch
The Location: A Restaurant Near the Campus Where I Work
The Group: New Friend-Turned-Coworker

The Situation: I served on a search committee last semester during which we decided to hire E. The second we met at her interview we became friends, and I have been looking forward to having her on campus ever since I saw the announcement that she had accepted the position. We headed out to lunch on her second day (the first of many lunches, I'm sure, as we are already borderling codependent). We didn't shut up for the entire hour, and in between sentences I gnawed on a normal yet healthy lunch...even including sweet potato fries (Eat your heart out, LA! She got so excited the first time I had fries in recovery). Another socially distracted meal that produced anti-ED actions. Hoo-rah.

As JN says: You already have your own answers when you are battling an eating disorder; you just have to figure them out". Her statement (and combined with the fact that my mind is already overactive and analytical to a fault) propels me to pick apart these scenarios and tried to find the meaning, the "big picture", the lesson.

So what is going on here? Why has "social eating" begun to save my ass from ED hysteria as of late?

Here's what the overactive, analytical mind has come up with...

I pick up cues from others when eating around them. How much to eat. What to eat. How quickly/slowly to eat. Rather, when by myself, I overthink, overanalyze, get frustrated, throw in the towel.
I am a social person. So I talk a lot. I can either be focusing on conversation or the fact that I am eating- not both. Because of my personality, I choose to focus on people. So food becomes what it should: something to chew on and nourish me.
Alcohol helps me eat. Not the best therapy approach and Dr. Joe kind of hates my non-ED addictions. But whatever. For now, it works.
When I leave a gathering of friends, people I love, people I trust...I feel fulfilled. I am not lonely. I am not abandoned. Therefore, self-destruction has no place (cue the harp and choir music...it's all good).

So there ya have it. Another breakthrough. Another moment of insight and growth.

Man, I am just oozing with recovery and self-exploration lately. I guess this is how people finally break free of this cycle for good.

Huh.

Why I Can't Just "Start Eating" Sometimes

2011-03-25T11:24:00.000-07:00

Just when I think I have the ins and outs of my eating disorder all figured out, another puzzle piece drops down from out of nowhere. And then I'm forced to figure out the following:

How the hell am I supposed to make room for the new puzzle piece now that it's here?
How did I put the puzzle together without realizing this piece was missing in the first place?

And then I kind of wonder why I've been given a puzzle to put together at all. But there is never an answer to that question...I just have to grab the pieces that are given to me and figure out what to do with them.

Today, while staring at some food and contemplating my own issues with it, I started to wonder why it is always so difficult to begin to eat again once a pattern of starvation sets in. Sure, there is the physiological explanation that the body simply "adjusts" to the lack of food and begins to find other avenues for energy. But as with all aspects of disordered eating, there is more to the story than just the scientific reasoning; in fact, that's the easy piece. The psychological piece of the puzzle is liket the odd-shaped interior piece that requires some extra effort to place.

For me, it all boils down to control and the significance it plays in my life. Mama K (who now considers herself more of a "Big Sis" than a mother, thus allowing for more fun and irresponsibility in our somewhat complex friendship) often says "well, just start eating again" when I fall into patterns of meal-skipping and starvation. So it is her simplistic advice that got me wondering: why is that first step towards getting back on track so difficult?

And another puzzle piece then fell from the sky.

When I slip back into relapse, it is generally not intentional or even weight-driven. It starts with stress, a busy schedule, and a few skipped meals or morning/afternoon snacks. The hunger sets in, and it's a familiar, "cozy" place...because I have established a pattern of using starvation and/or other self-destruction as a coping mechanism during turbulent times in the past. Once ED is in your past, it takes serious work to stay on the straight and narrow. So letting it slide a little becomes comforting, taking added stress off an already full plate.

By the time I catch myself slipping back into extended starvation, I usually have already started to lose weight. Thanks to distortion, the weight loss begins to feel "right". So the pattern continues a little longer...then a little longer...and then before I know it, I am no longer M but Anorexic Girl yet again.

Then, I am forced (by either myself, a friend, or a medical professional) to take that first step back towards the meal plan. And I fall to pieces when presented with a perfectly acceptable "safe" meal straight off The Original LA Meal Plan. What is up with that? I know the food is "acceptable". I know I'm in such a caloric deficit by that point that a small meal isn't going to put a dent in weight gain. So what is it?

Imagine starving for over a week. I know it's not normal and most people have never and will never come close to that sensation. But try to imagine it. And then imagine being faced with food. What would be your biggest fear?

That you won't be able to stop once you start eating...because your body is in desperate need of FOOD.

The reason it's so hard to break the pattern of starvation is the fear associated with overeating...aka "losing control"...aka being "gluttonous" and "undisciplined". As if one cracker, or even 10 crackers, might lead to devouring the whole box.

Which it probably would.

Because the body is starving.

And then I'd hate myself for not having any sense of self-control.

So the anorexic continues to starve. It's just easier to starve than to try and stop when the body is screaming "more food, more food, MORE FOOD!"

Part of Dr. K's motivation for my brief yet critical summer hospital stay was to "break me out of the eating disorder cycle". At the time, I thought I knew what she meant, although I clearly did not. Her rationale now makes sense: taking that first step is by far the hardest, but crucial to breaking the cycle. And it's almost necessary for it to be supervised or coached...because otherwise, the body takes control over the mind and all of the physical hunger, emotions, control, malnourishment...they all collide at that moment and make it nearly impossible to think clearly.

Slooooooow Down and Chew

2011-03-14T15:56:00.000-07:00

Whether I want to admit it or not, my body is still recovering from the marathon. I was riding high all last week, the adrenaline still pumping and feeling like an indestructible steel statue. Over this weekend, however, my body decided to just be done with the whole thing, throw in the towel, and shut down. It's just screaming "MERCY!".

So I gave in. If there is anything I have learned in the last year or so, it's that my body talks to me. I ignored it for a long time, but now I listen when it screams and bitches and moans and digs in its heels.

Don't get me wrong. I still exercised a decent amount this weekend both on the bike and running. But I backed off because I've come to the realization that it really doesn't do any good to push. In fact, my success at the marathon can probably be chalked up to the fact that I moved healing and rest to the top of the to-do list in the weeks leading up to the trip and race. I used to think my body liked and appreciated the pounding; but in reality, it seems to perform better when I take the time to let it be every now and then.

This is the new "zen" me. Well, the closest someone as high-strung as me can get to "zen".

I'm reading a book my naturally "zen" and "hippie-esque" boss (her and JN would be fast friends) threw on my desk the other day: Eating Mindfully. Mind you, I have to be careful with food-related books, as the content can sometimes trigger restriction or obsessing over what I eat (the complete opposite of what we are trying to do here). But LA, who knows me best, gave me the green light to read this one and got all giddy the way she normally does when she hears the slightest reference to geeky nutrition stuff.

So I'm only a few pages into Eating Mindfully and I'm already buying into the philosophy, which basically states that we have become a society of mindless eaters. So true.

While restriction was pretty much the name of my game at the height of my eating disorder, I still had moments during which I ate quite mindlessly. Granted, I usually caught myself, beat myself up with guilt, and ran to the bathroom to "get rid of it", but I do remember moments of "weakness" (that's an eating disordered reference by the way...there is no "weakness" associated with allowing yourself to eat something) during which I was shoveling anything and everything into my mouth after days of starvation.

Haven't you ever sat in front of the television and suddenly found yourself at the bottom of a bag of chips? Or at the movie theater slurping the last little bit of a gajillion-ounce Pepsi only to think "holy shit...is all that Pepsi now swishing around inside of me..."?. Or reached for a third, fourth, fifth slice of pizza just because it was in front of you?

That's mindless eating. We all do it.

So my new goal for this week is to eat mindfully. Listen to my body (which is screaming at me "recovery, please!"), eat when I'm hungry, eat what I'm craving, and take the time to enjoy it. In reality, we should all be doing that.

Last week brought several days at work during which I "forgot" to eat lunch. I am currently wrapped up in a lot of projects, and when my crazy mind gets going, it's hard to stop and "enjoy" a sandwich or something. I finally emailed LA one day when I was up to my ears in stress and said something along the lines of "I want to punch everyone in the face, I am way too stressed, I am drowning, and I haven't eaten lunch and don't see any time in the near future to do so."

After she finally convinced me to eat (with really nothing more than an email saying "please go eat"...but I listen anyhow, because she's, well, like my mom), I inhaled my turkey sandwich and carrots and returned to work. Almost immediately, the thoughts starting creeping in: Fat. Gross. Sloppy. Sluggish.

But, alas, thanks to my months and months and months spent in therapy...I understood it. I hadn't taken the time to eat mindfully. Therefore, eating too quickly made me 1. feel unnaturally full, and 2. like a ravenous pig who cannot control her urges. Both are psychological triggers for a previously anorexic person to purge, restrict, or over-exercise later on.

I was so proud of myself for figuring this out.

And the philosophy of Eating Mindfully confirms what I figured out. When we don't take the time to listen to our bodies, rush through meals, neglect to truly enjoy the food...we engage in all kinds of psychological battles with ourselves and start to think:

I cannot control myself. I am disgusting.
I overate AGAIN. Fatass!
Gluttonous pig.
My gut is sticking out, and I am certain I instantly gained 12 pounds from lunch alone.
(Enter other damaging food-related self-talk here...)

So I tried out some of the suggestions this book has offered me already (even though I'm only on page 8 or something), and zoned in on the flavors, textures, and nutrients within the foods I ate this weekend. I chewed slower, tried to enjoy it (kind of hard for me, given the ED past), and just went with the flow. And I have to say, it made eating a lot easier.

Why do we assume that because we eat a "junk" food we must either 1. eat it all (as in: "Might as well!") or 2. eat so little that we barely enjoy it (as in: "I will have ONE Dorito...)?

Really, it's not that black and white. And the most balanced approach to food, as with most things in life, is somewhere in the gray. Everything in moderation, but with awareness and reflection at the root of the action.

So my issue was with anorexia. Yours might be with overeating. Or maybe it's just an over-obsession with food or body. Whatever it is, we can all benefit from paying a little more attention to the food in our mouths. After all, it's hard to deny that a strong psychological link exists between what we eat and how it makes us feel.

A New Kind of Swagger

2011-03-10T11:12:00.000-08:00

Running 26.2 miles truly gives you a new kind of swagger. I feel, having now completed a marathon, that regardless of time or perceived level of "success", the step you take across the finish line is the first step into a whole new version of yourself.

I don't care who you are. Even the most humble person develops at least an ounce of cockiness after completing one of the greatest athletic challenges of all time.

So what happened? What was the race like? You want the gory details? Hell if I know. I was half out of my mind towards the end, and the second the finish line was in sight it was as though a giant eraser just cleaned out all memory of pain or distress or self-doubt. I sort of remember the pain in my quads, Linkin Park blaring through my iPod, and throwing a Gatorade cup on the ground in anger when I saw the mammoth Hill Intended to Kill You at mile 25.

Dr. Joe, always relating life to sports so I can understand it, told me once that life mimics the marathon. There are so many highs, lows, challenges, victories, experiences...it is ever-changing. When you "hit the wall", you have to just keep going, knowing that another "runner's high" may only be a mile or so away. Running a marathon, like in life, requires a lot of hope and grit and faith.

I finished my first marathon in 4 hours, 24 minutes...only about 20 minutes behind my initial pre-injury goal. I bawled my eyes out when I crossed the finish line, so much so that the race official thought I was hurt. All of the physical pain of the previous four hours fell away instantly, and here's the amazing thing...a great deal of the emotional pain of the last year or so fell away with it. It was the most incredible and life-changing experience I have had to date.

And what does someone recovering from an eating disorder do once she finishes a marathon? Not what you may expect: I ate like there was no tomorrow. Sweet potato fries, pulled chicken sandwich with an amazing Southern barbecue sauce, cole slaw, potato salad, potato soup, jello shots, wine, ice cream cone, countless slices of pizza, salad, fried (yes, I said fried) ravioli, Belgian waffle, scrambled eggs, fruit, cupcakes, Starbucks...

And then when I arrived home a day later...

More cupcakes (compliments of LA), a veggie burrito, glasses of chocolate milk, Turtles from my student assistant...

I couldn't get enough. But you know what? I enjoyed it. I really did. And I talked to JN last night on the phone and can honestly say I can let it go. I realized, in talking to JN, that the body I sometimes try to "fix" is the same one that carried me through 26.2 miles of running (something, let's be honest, very, very few people ever attempt to do...let alone complete). So, hey, ya know...if it wants some foods it usually doesn't eat...whatever.

And carelessly swallowing large amounts of junk food without too much of an afterthought is just one small facet of the new swagger.

The other facets of the new swagger come from a renewed confidence and trust in myself. Running a marathon taught me that when I'm faced with immense struggle, only I truly have the ability to pull myself through it. Tangible proof (in the form of a marathon finish) that I do, in fact, possess that ability is a bit of a game-changer looking forward.

Over the last several weeks (months, actually), I've picked up on a common theme that has been peppered into conversation, comments, emails, etc. It's come in different forms and isn't always cut and dry (in fact, rarely so bluntly stated, but often implied): you only run these distances because you have an eating disorder.

Um, no. But thanks for your concern.

I may have used running as a vehicle to burn loads of calories before. But just because I still run (or RUN...capital letters imply the sheer insanity of the mileage) does not mean the motivation is the same.

I run for the rush of the finish. I run because I enjoy the confidence gained when completing the goals I set for myself. I run because my good friends run, and it's a way to stay in touch with each other (what else do you think we do when we run for hours together?). I run because I crave intensity in my life and exercise is how I choose to use my energy. I run because I like to do the things other people are afraid to try. I run because I like challenges. I also run because, well, I'm kind of good at it. So why the hell not.

It takes some time spent in eating disorder therapy to let go of the previous motivation for exercise. But just because someone lets go of the disordered motivation for the activity doesn't mean she needs to give up the actual activity. There's a difference.

So completing the marathon has given me the swagger to brush that implied belief aside when I sense it behind the "concerned" words of others. Some will always see me as weak, sick, and eating disordered. That's fine. I get it. I'm still thinner than most women my age, I still eat healthfully, sometimes slip back into old thinking (but always reach out to LA, JN, or Dr. Joe immediately, like I've been trained to do), and continue to exercise more than the vast majority of the general population. Those are the things people will see on the outside and use to form their judgments and opinions. I can accept that. But that doesn't mean I need to stop what I'm doing, especially if I'm confident that I'm a better, healthier person now than I was a year ago.

LA reminded me once that many people think that weight gain and eating junk food is a a sign that a formerly anorexic person is "healed", but that those outward signs are not at all indicative of whether or not someone has overcome their eating disorder. Rather, it's the stuff people cannot see: the change in motivation for exercise, the self-acceptance, the improvement in body dysmorphia, the movement away from a need for perfection. Only the individual (and maybe the support team who has been there all along) is able to see, feel, and experience the real change and growth.

Swagger comes from knowing inside that you've become a better, stronger version of yourself...whether those on the outside can see it or not.

I went to physical therapy yesterday and consulted with my therapists and doctors about my recent problems with my leg. Given the success of my first (and what I thought was my only) marathon, I've been given more...as long as we correct some of the orthopedic issues with orthotics and continued physical therapy.

So I'll be doing another. And who knows how many more. There's also a 50K on the books for this summer, and a host of other half marathons and fun races with friends. I'll be continuing to run a lot of miles to train for them because I want to have the best shot at achieving those accomplishments; not because I am a "former eating disordered" person.

I am now a marathon finisher. I am a runner. I now run because that it where I choose to spend my energy and time and competitive spirit. That's the bottom line.

I'm also a lot of other things: loyal friend and wife, a writer, a professional, a leader... I'm not defined by running, but it is something I enjoy a great deal. It has also saved me and helped me to grow as a person and brought amazing people into my life. It's given me the mental strength and resiliency to overcome nearly anything I encounter.

A weak, sick, person cannot complete a marathon.

But I just did.

Food for thought.

All In

2011-02-25T09:58:00.000-08:00

Very rarely in life are we faced with the decision to go all in or save the chips for later. If you were to really think about your life, most of life's defining moments allow you to still hold on to some chips: an emergency fund, Plan B, or a safety net.

While running a marathon is not akin to the birth of a child, or my wedding day, or accepting my first professional job...it's still up there. Perhaps it's the meaning I myself have attached to the miles and the accomplishment. Whatever the explanation, possessing the ability to run long distances holds a certain significance in my life.

While it has never been mentioned in my blog before (mostly because I didn't see its relevance until now), I was born with a bone disorder that caused some significant problems in my legs as a child. I developed tibial torsion, and my right tibia was reconstructed when I was 13. I spent that entire summer unable to walk, but returned to swimming almost as soon as I was recovered. Two summers later, the plate and hardware were removed from my leg and I went on with my life. Never used it as an excuse. Never really even disclosed it to anyone or spoke of it at all. I pushed it far back in my mind and plowed ahead with my life, the only evidence of struggle a fairly large scar on my shin.

I had absolutely no issues with this leg when I started running half marathons. It was only natural to move into the full marathon distance, so I just went for it. I truly forgot about my limitations; that I do not have the same capabilities as everyone else.

While I endured a stress fracture on my tibia before, I started to feel more discomfort within the last week or so, and the excrutiating pain had begun to shoot up my shin, into my knee, and even my hip. On Monday, the physical therapist focused entirely on pain management, and urged a doctor to get me in on Wednesday for some x-rays and evaluation.

While meeting with the doctor, I was told that I have about 30 miles left on my leg in its current condition. The previous stress fracture remains, as well as evidence of some smaller ones in other areas. Continuing on in this state for too much longer is putting me at risk of a break. A true break on the tibia, given my history, would require a rod be placed in my leg to reset it.

From a purely medical standpoint, according to the doctor, running the marathon in 9 days will probably not cause anymore damage that what is already present. Considering my recent mileage, running 26.2 miles is just another drop in the bucket.

But my mind started going...30 miles minus 26.2...leaves 3.8 miles to spare...

"You have about that left on it...it's just going to hurt like hell," And in his words "the large majority of doctors would tell you not to run on this at all..."

Then the real bomb...The inside of my tibia will always be at risk of fracture due to its poor alignment, no matter what we do. For this reason, the road marathon is an extremely high-risk pursuit for me in the future.

I can be a runner again...after what the doctor and physical therapist call "some serious work" involving biomechanic adjustments and orthotics and perhaps some more reconstruction. But I cannot be a marathon runner.

Unfortunately, that's precisely what I wanted to be.

I didn't think when I registered for this marathon that it would be both my first and last. I didn't question my ability to finish it or even my ability to hit my goal time (which was a bit of a lofty goal for a first-timer..but within reach). I saw this race as an entry point into a string of races that would eventually lead me to qualify for the great Boston Marathon, lots of finisher's medals, and colorful stories to share. The stuff marathon runners live for.

As the doctor put it earlier this week: I can think of these 30 miles as poker chips at my disposal.

I can go all in now and endure the pain...knowing this is the closest I may ever get to completing a road 26.2.

I can save the chips for later...knowing I may never get to use them in the future due to the risk involved.

When I left the sports medicine center that morning a few days ago, I was crying. A lot. I couldn't process the information and it didn't seem real. Sure, it's just running. But running has grown to mean a lot to me. And running full marathons...well, I think I've made it quite clear what that means to me too.

Mama K was my first and only phone call that day. I braced myself for what I was certain was coming: "M., this is just ridiculous now, it's not worth it. Just throw in the towel, it's okay. You don't need this accomplishment."

Instead she quietly listened, thought for a moment, and finally just said: "I think this might just be one of those times you have to go all in."

I'm not going to say Mama K's response was what gave me the willpower to forge ahead with this (stupid) race. But I realized her voice was just confirming my own thoughts, giving the reassurance I needed to give this goal a shot...even when the chips are seriously stacked against me.

I saw Dr. Joe last night for an appointment and filled him in. Another person who tends to err on the "cautious" side, I was anticipating that he would try to talk me down off this ledge with his patient and completely rational voice. Instead, he looked at me with somewhat sobering and very genuine eyes and said "M., I am very, very sorry. I know how much running future marathons meant to you."

And Dr. Joe, a runner himself, proceeded to coach me on how to give myself the best shot of completing my one and only marathon.

26.2 miles that I honestly don't know if I will be able to finish. 26.2 miles even the doctor isn't sure I will be able to finish, no matter how much grit and willpower I have. The pain may be too great.

In the end....this is one of life's "all in" moments. I am given one shot at something I want. Regardless of what happens, I'm all in.

It just means that much too me. Whether it should or not. It just does.

Next Up: Tackling Body Dysmorphia

2011-02-24T10:06:00.000-08:00

Body Dysmorphia: Failing to see your body as it truly is. Painful body image. Distortion.

One of the benefits of becoming my former dietitian's favorite-client-turned-friend is my newfound access to one of her former colleagues, JN. Welcome to the team, JN. Unfortunately for JN, I cannot afford to dish out sign-on bonuses. Although LA, Dr. K., and Dr. Joe may come knocking if the new chick collected one while I was essentially dropped in their laps with a host of serious issues in tow.

JN can best be described as a dietitian with a twist. As a wellness coach, she blends nutritional guidance, yoga, and body image counseling to help girls like me who, well, have no idea what they look like and really need to cut the "I hate my body" crap in order to fully recover from disordered eating.

JN and LA know each other from their work at an outpatient eating disorder clinic about 30 minutes north of here. Dr. K also knows JN and perked up a little when I reported that I would be working with her on some body image issues, as she is probably waiting for the day she no longer has to waste energy trying to conceal my weight during office visits.

Tonight's meeting with JN was actually the second. About two weeks ago, LA drove me to my first appointment with JN (which, for them, was like a little reunion), and the three of us discussed my treatment thus far, my lingering food issues, and why I can't just love my freakin' body already. Unlike the first time I met with LA, I actually opened up to JN with ease, probably because:

1. I am eating and no longer brain-starved, so therefore was coherent (unlike my first meeting with LA back in the day).

2. LA was there. I have major trust issues (duh...we know this), but knowing LA trusted New Girl helped me actually form meaningful sentences. I am convinced I would have sat with my arms crossed had LA not been there to telepathically coax me along.

3. I genuinely want the help. I know the body dysmorphia- while the hardest to overcome- is the like the eating disorder's obnoxious twin. Not seeing my body clearly and not wanting to eat are a package deal; one leads to the other and vice verse.

Tonight, I flew solo to JN's office and talked to her myself like the mature, 28-year old that I (sometimes) claim to be. Given the injury issues, I have been slapped in the face with the eating disorder yet again, and while trying to resist, have skimped a little on the food this week. When I realized I may have to back off from running, I instinctively snipped away at my daily food intake to "compensate" (normal people can do this, I cannot). Out went the second waffle I normally eat every morning, the cheese that goes with my morning apple, the hummus that accompanies my raw vegetables. I was gently reminded by JN that I need to stick to the plan.

Tomorrow, I'll eat two waffles again, re-introduce hummus to my veggies (I'm sure they missed one another) and chomp on some cheese. I get it. I remembered why I have to do that. My bad.

In addition to the food piece (which is never ending, really), part of my work with JN includes some yoga principles and body awareness. Think: the "my body is a temple" kind of stuff my "I love pain and cardio and competition!" mind generally doesn't handle well.

But I need it. I know this.

At least every other day I have a mini-meltdown related to what I see in the mirror or how I "feel" inside my body. I tend to always feel sloppy, lazy, "soft", pudgy...you name it. It's very black and white. For example, yesterday I wore a pair of my "sick" pants (worn while at my lowest weight) to work. They still fit, but are a little more snug than I would typically wear my pants.

The pants are a size zero Tall. They are from a store that does vanity sizing...but still, a zero nontheless (those things used to matter to me). However, because they were snug, I immediately thought to myself: "well, here we are...you knew this day was coming sooner or later. You are now a size 14 and can no longer fit into anything. Congrats. You suck."

If I had truly become a size 14 overnight...could I really have even fit into the zeros? Um...NO. Hel-lo distortion.

Likewise, JN caught a glimpse of this distortion last evening while in her yoga room. When asked to "place my feet hip's width apart", I instinctively spread 'em quite widely.

JN giggled. "Well, if that isn't an indicator body dysmorphia, I don't know what is! Um...your hips are not that wide."

I looked at my feet, set at least twelve inches to the outside of either hip. I laughed. I really thought that's where my hips were; a clear indication that I am not exactly experiencing my body as it truly is.

JN is going to attempt to help me just "be"...something I really never "am" (if that makes any sense at all). Now that I have restored some weight, learned to eat again, and have stopped trashing my body, it's now time for Step Two: minimizing the anxiety over trying to fix my body, trying to find peace with my natural weight "set point", and learning to be an intuitive eater.

And I should probably work to locate my hips, come to terms with that fact that I don't go from zero to 14 2.5 seconds after eating a piece of candy, and to see what I really look like with all the distortion stripped away.

And so I've turned down another street on this journey and added another eating disorder professional to my growing collection. But I like these people, and I eventually want to shed all of this crap...so I'm going to let them all stay just a little longer ;)

What 26.2 Means to Me

2011-02-22T07:00:00.000-08:00

So I'm injured. Less than two weeks before my first full marathon- a goal I set for myself while lying in a hospital bed twenty-five pounds ago and vowed to complete regardless of the setbacks.

And maybe I was naive to think there wouldn't be any setbacks. I've struggled a lot in my life, but physical activity was the one area where I didnt generally encounter a lot of roadblocks. Sure, I had to work hard...but more often than not, working hard produced the results I wanted. Generally, the only variable involved in achieving physical accomplishments was the amount of effort I put forth. And given the unflinching determination that has somehow been woven into my psyche, I never really ran out of effort to give.

But now this is different, and an unexpected variable has been thrown in: structural injury. And quite honestly, I didn't know how to deal with it at first. I just kept pushing and pushing and biting into this goal like a dog with a bone.

So why hold on?

I'll tell you why. The marathon means something unique to each person who has put in the hours, the pain, and the commitment to complete it. Everyone has their reasons for wanting to endure such a mental and physical challenge, and no reason is less significant than the next. For this reason, it becomes very difficult to talk a runner out of pursuing a marathon once his or her eyes have been set on the finish line.

For me, running 26.2 represents accomplishment, coming back to life after a disorder that could have killed me without intervention, and strength in both mental and physical capacity. On July 19, The Mr. walked me into the hospital (a planned stay, strongly recommended by Dr. K) to start the process of becoming medically stable and starting to eat again. When we walked through those sliding glass doors, I had two books in my bag: "First Encounters With the Marathon" and "Ironman". The night before, I had purchased them at Borders. I knew I would have down time while lying there with an IV stuck in my arm...and I wanted to read something that would motivate me to do whatever it took to regain strength.

Lying there, my muscles weak and my ribs showing, my weight at nearly the lowest it had been since my high school swimming days, I started to realize that I was both wasting away and wasting my life. I realized, with fluids dripping into my veins and doctors monitoring my food intake, that I was so much stronger and better than all of it. If I had the mental strength to starve myself, ignore hunger, and not let go of the vision of "perfection" I had set in my mind...then I certainly had the strength to turn it all around and dump that energy into completing a marathon.

By that time, I was running 13-15 miles without issue (and also without food or fuel). I told myself that if I wanted to run a marathon and an ultramarathon, I would need to start eating. I would need to be okay with some weight gain. I would need to reframe my thinking related to food: it could no longer be the enemy. Food had to become what it is intended to be: a source of energy and fuel to power me through the physicality I would be putting my body through.

So pound by pound, I grew to accept the strength that was developing in me. I had moments of regression when I cried when I saw the number written in my charts (Dr. K never intended for me to see those). But in the back of my mind flashed the thought of running marathons, and that flash was generally enough to remind me that it was okay to see the number rise.

I started asking LA questions about proper fueling. I wanted to know more about nutrition for endurance athletes and ate and ate and ate. I delved into it, I learned about it. It propelled me. With time, I had shed the eating disorder and found new confidence, a new love and appreciation for my body and strength and grit.

Right or wrong (and I'm sure there are plenty who will judge), the marathon brought me back to life. Regardless of what happens this week and next related to the injury, physical therapy, and alternative workouts, 26.2 miles represents a hell of a lot more to me than just a medal or an athletic accomplishment.

I will listen to the doctor I will be seeing tomorrow (who I hear is pretty liberal and tends to lean to the "go ahead and run...just take painkillers!" side). I will follow directions. I will back off and save myself. I'll get in the pool and ice myself and retape. And if I'm given the green light to continue and to run the marathon, I'll be doing so driven by the fight that has gotten me this far.

Back to the Keyboard

2011-02-21T19:29:00.000-08:00

Since the beginning, Dr. Joe has preached to me: "Progress, M., is not a straight line."

Absorbing this as just another -ism from a guy who earns $30 an hour to tell me what to do with my life, I used to brush it off with an eye roll (a leftover gesture from my youth that I rarely even bother to hide from the guy at this point). But having ridden the bumpy roller coaster otherwise known as "Life After the Worst is Over", I can attest to this fact: progress is more like the straight line someone tripping on acid may attempt to create.

About two months ago, I walked away from this blog and claimed to have closed a chapter. I was cocky and confident and sure that I was part of the small and exclusive group of "fully recovered", "formerly-known-as" eating disorder patients. I ate whatever I wanted for a little bit (within reason...some "food rules" still lingered), embraced my new healthy body, and started to wonder what on earth was the big deal about kicking this disorder?

Every time the eating disorder started to creep in, I was quick to shut the door. I threw it down into the dark basement of my life, gave it the middle finger, and turned my back. But gradually, it started to find other ways to make it back up the stairs: seeping through the cracks and creating other paths.

So it's right what they say about this disorder. It's like an addiction that will linger for life. Like any good post-recovery eating disorder patient, I had learned to turn my back on the temptation of familiarity. However, I made the rookie mistake of charging ahead without respecting the fact that the banished eating disorder could make its way back up the stairs when I'm not paying attention.

It would be a lie to say I've been living a perfectly blissful, balanced, ED-free existence since my last post. I'm honestly not sure why I never returned to the keyboard to explain the slips and falls and stumbles I've experienced in the last few months. Maybe it was my pride. Or lack of free time. Maybe I just didn't feel like putting it all into words again. Sometimes I just convinced myself no one really gave a fuck anymore and should just keep it to myself.

There was the Tuesday afternoon in January on which I had to call LA because I suddenly started bawling at the sight of my lunch. I should really be writing through this moment because this is totally insane and I need to remember what the hell got into me all of the sudden so it doesn't happen again.

There was the day several weeks ago when I stood frozen in the grocery store, paralyzed by the realization that the brown rice I had planned to purchase could only be found in a center aisle. I had just observed a trainer at the gym recommend that a client try to only shop the perimeter of the store and suddenly felt the advice applied to me as well. I should really be writing about this. There has got to be a humorous blog post buried deep in this completely irrational hysteria.

There was my most recent Dr. K appointment, during which I realized I'm only one pound under my self-imposed "weight limit" and secretly devised a plan to drop a few pounds without anyone noticing. I should really be writing about this because I just read an article about why my body is gaining weight while marathon training and it makes perfect physiological sense...yet I'd still rather hold my hand on a hotplate than gain another pound.

There was the day last week I went back and forth...purge. Don't purge. Purge. Don't purge. And ended up throwing up everything I ate after hours and hours and hours of obsessing. And the horrible guilt that set in when I realized I should probably tell LA I just broke Cardinal Rule #1 (that would be no throwing up) after nearly three months of digesting food like a normal person. I really should be writing through this. This is a relapse and people need to understand that it happens and life goes on.

Then there was today. As I lay on a cold table at the physical therapist's office with a giant ice pack and a stim therapy hook-up on my completely jacked-up right leg, my only obsessive thought was "this is it. I'm not eating until I can run again". I really should be writing about this...because if this is where my mind automatically goes, I still have some work to do...

The progress has been tremendous. Really, it has. But Dr. Joe is (unfortunately) right when he states that progress is not a straight line. There are peaks, and valleys; and while the valleys are becoming fewer and further between, they still exist and are deserving of my words.

And as I've learned throughout the biggest growth experience of my life (um, that would be this, actually)...nearly everything in life falls short of perfect.

So I've swallowed my pride, and I'm back. Stronger than before; more resilient. Happier, more secure, and with even more honesty than before...but picking up where I left off (almost) and telling the rest of the story.

What it Took

2010-12-20T19:12:00.000-08:00

I am sitting at my kitchen table paying the medical bills that have piled up in my red, plastic-covered notebook.

A few months before I began this blog, I had gone to Target to purchase this notebook to organize all of my treatment materials. After leaving the hospital a few days prior, I had suddenly decided it was time to get serious about overcoming the destructive issues with weight and food that had starting to gnaw away at my life and livelihood. I had been meeting with LA, Dr. Joe, and Dr. K before buying the notebook, but that day marked the moment I decided to tackle getting better the same way I had tackled many issues before: by trying to organize it, make sense of it all, and take control.

LA just told me recently that the Eating Disorder Notebook (as we now call in it my house...as in "where is the Eating Disorder Notebook?"), coupled with the way I often dress to go to work, gave me a very "serious" look when I came to her office visits. I suppose that observation, at the time, was accurate. Even while struggling, I often approached getting better as though it were a job. If there is one thing I know how to do well it is work; making something my "job" is a tried and true way for me to ensure that I will, in fact, reach my goal in the end.

While tackling some of these medical bills this evening, I couldn't help but leaf through the notebook's pages a bit and take a look at how far I've come. On the pages, I had poured out my food intake, any assignments Dr. Joe had given, and lists of questions for rounds of doctor's appointments.

My first food entry in the notebook reads:

Wednesday, July 21 2010
Breakfast- 1 can of Ensure, 1/2 banana
Lunch- berries, pretzels
4:00- a few almonds
7:00- taught 60 minute cycling class, ran 4.5 miles, upper body lifting, core exercises (totaling over two hours of intense physical activity)
Dinner- multigrain bagel (plain)

I literally cannot remember eating this way. While I'm sure I was supposed to be following the plan LA originally gave me, that did not even come close...yet was probably excrutiating for me. I'm certain I felt, on that day, as though I had seriously binged.

Two entries later:

Saturday, July 24 2010- relapse

According to the entry, I had eaten "a few bites of steak, green beans, a few bites of baked potato" (due to limited options while on a whitewater rafting excursion). I had purged. Three hours later, I "binged" on a few tortilla chips and purged again. I had run 5 miles earlier that day.

Reading that, I almost cried. What an awful, awful place I was in. And I don't remember a thing.

Other Artifacts Found in The Eating Disorder Notebook:

A magazine photograph of Dara Torres (Olympic swimmer), her ripped body serving as motivation for me to eat and develop muscle again.
An article from Dr. Joe titled "Exercise Bulimia Difficult to Detect". I remember reading that and thinking he was overreacting a bit. I now realize even the sick girl featured in the article was eating more than I was at the time.
The scary post-it note Dr. Joe gave me that reads: BLOOD HOSPITAL SCOPE FRACTURE PAIN to remind me how imperative it was that I eat and quit purging.
Another post-it note from Dr. Joe that reads: "You don't have to be perfect to be good."
The original nutrition plan LA gave me that directed me to eat practically the bare minimum to stay alive, yet pissed me off so much at the time that I wanted to quit working with her.
26 receipts from office visits with LA (at $30 a visit, mind you...do the math)
38 receipts from office visits with Dr. Joe (another $30 each time)
7 receipts from office visits with Dr. K (yep, you guess it...$30 copay again...she's a specialist)
3 receipts from office visits with GI Guy (another specialist...you get the picture)
Medical bills from the local hospitals totaling over $1,500 (and I have excellent insurance)
A page in my own handwriting titled "Why Am I So Angry?" and a list of 11 things I apparently hated about my life on September 9, 2010.
A food entry from July 27 that ends with: "I have decided to trust LA again and get back on the plan"...after a week of purging nearly every day. I have no idea why I jumped off "the plan" at that point in time.

An entry from September 1, 2010 reads:

September 1, 2010
Things to tell LA:
- I hate feeling full and I have to purge when I do. I can't help it. Sorry.
- The meal plan seems like way too much right now, we need to back off

Things to tell Dr. Joe:
- I do not work out hard enough to earn the right to eat.
- Eating is a very time consuming process and I just don't have the energy to fight through it.
- Eating makes me feel weak emotionally. Giving into food is a failure.

Again...wow.

Just wow.

Tonight I ate cookies at the gym without guilt. Yesterday I fueled perfectly for a 15-mile run: post-run breakfast, three gels, recovery drink, sports drinks thereafter, big meals...Friday night I enjoyed some cupcakes with LA and her daughters while relaxing at her house (a sense of family I love now that I am no longer her client). That is where I am right now.

Who was that person?

All that energy poured into obsessing over food. Dr. Joe's scary post-it notes. Entry after entry dotted with hand-drawn stars (what I used to indicate food I had purged so LA could attempt to break down my patterns). All those receipts...and many more that I probably neglected to keep.

So that's what it took for me to wake up.

Unbelievable.

Life After the Cupcake

2010-12-18T19:52:00.000-08:00

It's funny how small gestures and momentos often define grand moments in life.

As a runner, I love to collect medals. They are more than just objects to me; they each have a story or an experience attached to them. For example, I look at the one from a half marathon I ran in late October and remember how cathartic the experience was, running without focus on time and reflecting on turning a corner in the recovery process. I will always associate that medal with my mindset at the time, as though it is somehow cast into the metal and ribbon themselves.

Likewise, a lifetime of memories of my grandmother are wrapped up in a single gold heart-shaped locket, containing two miniscule photographs (one of her on her wedding day, and one of me dressed as a pint-sized princess at Halloween). I wear the locket often and treat it as another piece of jewelry on most days- throwing it in my gym bag after work, untangling the clasp from my hair, sprsying cologne all over it. But when I really think about what it means (the only material thing I now own from her), the locket becomes much more than just a pretty necklace; rather it has somehow captured and now holds eighteen years' worth of stories.

Next to my running medals and a beloved momento from someone who played a major role in my life, using a cupcake to define a moment seems rather insignificant. Trivial, even. You may even think, as an outsider looking in, that to associate such a small thing with such a defining moment is melodramatic.

After LA brought me a cupcake on Monday morning (which, yes, I inhaled without hesitation), I started seeing cupcakes everywhere. Cupcake-themed stationary, new cupcake bakeries, cupcake Christmas ornaments, cupcake jewelry, Cupcake brand wines...it was almost as though I was being haunted by cupcakes. Given the significance of the cupcake in that meeting (and the fact that they started to appear everywhere), I couldn't help but start to associate the damn things with breaking free from my eating disorder.

Like a medal or the locket, the sight of a cupcake will always bring me back to the moment I realized I was moving past a disorder that had once made me very sick both physically and mentally.

Six months ago, when I started working with professionals to help me overcome anorexia, I told them I would NEVER eat a treat again. Just get me to eat again...that's it. I will never be someone who indulges.

This week I've had three cupcakes, in fact. Ok, so I was wrong.

Life after The Cupcake (referring to the original post-ED cupcake that signified my departure from LA's office visits) has been wonderful. This week, while I had my moments of stress (who doesn't?), I realized I have become a slightly more relaxed version of my previous self. I can indulge, I can say no to requests and demands that overwhelm me, and I actually enjoy the slight imperfections that have started to sprout up in my life. Ever since The Cupcake, the mere time I spend thinking or obsessing over food or weight has nearly vanished. This week has been the most eating-disorder free week I have had in well over a year, and I anticipate the eating disorder taking even more of a backseat in the weeks to come.

So now it's time to transition, to focus my energy elsewhere. I will always have an eating disorder in my head; the voice has just quieted (or I have learned to tell it to fuck off...that could be too). But while it has shut up for awhile, it's time to take a deep breath, regroup, and start living again.

Here's what my life After The Cupcake is shaping up to look like (in other words, a recap of my life as it now stands...since I have neglected to write in over five days- sorry):

I eat to fuel my body. In fact, LA and I talked last evening about the fact that I probably need to eat a LOT of food now that my marathon training is picking up...and that does not freak me out one bit. What does freak me out is dying off towards the end of training runs the way I used to. Fuel now trumps weight. Move over, ED. I have all kinds of insane athletic pursuits in my future and you are now just in the way.

I have been officially adopted into LA's family and gained three new siblings. They were kind of thinking of letting me in anyhow, but when they got to eat some of the cupcakes I had sent LA as a thank you, I was immediately given the stamp of approval. I adored LA as my dietitian, but I like her even more as a friend. Truly stuck for life.

I'm starting to use my personal training certification, and while I'm working lots of hours between my "real" job and my "second" job, I'm happy to be applying my love of physical activity and training to help other people. I've even been kicking around the idea of using my certification to train individuals who are overcoming eating issues and trying to regain their health and strength. We'll see what the future holds there.

I am still working with Dr. Joe and probably will be for quite some time, only because I think it's kind of fun to mess with him and he keeps me entertained. Just kidding...that's not why. In reality (let's be honest) my life has been a bit of a mess. At least I'm realizing it in my twenties and can try to apply some damage control so the past doesn't continue to eat me alive.

I have muscles again. My body is no longer chomping on them to try and get some energy. Bravo for that.

I laugh. All the time. I'm happy again.

In the last five days, while still eating really healthfully, I have had 1. chicken philly sandwich, 2. three cupcakes, and 3. a bag of Baked Lays ("health" food to most...not to me). Oh, and 4. butter.

I have not had an episode of the excrutiating yet mysterious pain+vomiting in about three weeks. After seemingly dozens (ok, it was like four, but still) of negative test results, my doctors determined the episodes were the result of residual damage from repeated purging. Once I got better and cut out the purging, my body has (miraculously) started to heal (what a concept...should've tried it earlier). I may deal with the pain again in the future, but for now it seems to have backed off a little.

Life After the Cupcake, that defining moment that marks the start of the rest of my ED-free life, is treating me well.

Another big milestone is lingering on the horizon this week: The Compliment.

That's right. This marks the fourth week of "true" success, as defined by my ever-so-cautious therapist. Will Dr. Joe drop a compliment as he has promised? What will life after The Compliment look like? Hmmm...stay tuned.

In the meantime, may every cupcake in your future taste just a little sweeter and remind you that change is possible.

Closing a Chapter

2010-12-12T19:29:00.000-08:00

In some of my previous posts, I have wondered how I would know if I had moved beyond the eating disorder. What would it look like? Would there ever really be an end to it, or would the obsession and behaviors haunt me for life?

Interestingly enough, my obsession with food and body image suddenly started really slipping away lately without much effort. Dr. Joe seems to think that my choice to walk away from some pretty painful family dynamics has shifted some of my anger outward, rather than inward, and he is not at all surprised I have stopped destroying myself and my life.

Who knows. I am not a psychologist and thank god at times I am not. I guess it really doesn't matter the exact cause of my recent successes, as long as they continue. He can analyze it until he's blue in the face. I suppose that is how he makes his living. In time, I'm sure I'll have it all figured out too. After all, that will probably be the key to leaving this eating disorder and other self-destruction behind for good.

I'm starting to realize I have a lot to give and a lot to accomplish. In short, I now realize I may have too much to lose.

I am shocking myself with how well I am transitioning out of my previous mindset. It is almost as though someone just now found the light switch we've been looking for all along, and didn't waste a second turning it on. I'm suddenly living again; and the life I'm living now, on the tail-end of recovery is, in many ways, even better than the one I was living before I started starving myself. I'm now stronger physically than I have been in nearly a year, I'm starting to understand who I am and what makes me tick, and have developed some extremely trusting relationships throughout this process. My goals are suddenly bigger, my confidence on its way to being restored. I've learned a lot about who in my life will check out during the rough patches, and who will stick around for the good times that exist on the other side of the mountain.

Tomorrow morning, I meet with LA for possibly my last office visit. The discussion over reaching this point was rather casual (via text message, actually). There really wasn't a big flashing "YOU'RE READY!" light that suddenly went off or some kind of finish line that I had crossed. I believe we had been texting about my recent return to normal foods, when she suddenly proposed: You know I was thinking maybe Monday would be our last office visit for awhile...how do you feel about that?

I thought about it. I was instantly apprehensive about severing the cord, moving away from a routine I have established. I have met with LA at least once a week for the last six months. Our office visits had become a mainstay in my life. I had laughed a lot there, cried at times, and overcome my fear of eating there. I have, and always will, see LA's office as a secure place where I really tackled this eating disorder. For a split second, I saw myself falling apart without having that appointment on my calendar each week.

However, I also knew LA was seeing progress that I, honestly, hadn't even been paying attention to. I've grown to trust her enough that I know she wouldn't suggest backing off on office visits unless she knew I had reached a point where I could stand on my own two feet.

I told Mama K about the fact that LA and I are thinking of backing off on the appointments after tomorrow. She simply said: "M. You've won."

For someone who loves to win, one would think I would have realized that already. But I had not.

I cannot believe I am to this point. There were so many times I honestly thought I would not get better. I felt as though this eating disorder and the physical damage resulting from it would haunt me for years and years to come. I pictured LA and I still playing with plastic food models this time next year.

Why didn't I see myself here? This point has been the goal all along. How is it possible to have been working towards a goal I couldn't really see myself?

I am ready to make tomorrow's appointment with LA my last. Some may doubt that I'm ready or tell me what they think I should do, but in reality, LA and I are the only two who really know how far I've come and where I still need to go. Likewise, she is the only one who truly sees the significance and major successes in things like:

Butter making an appearance in our home refrigerator again (well, ok, The Mr. also sees the significance in that...he's been missing butter for quite some time).
Regular caramel being added to my Starbucks coffee in place of the sugar-free version.
Me texting her to make sure I had fueled properly before embarking on my 14-mile training run on Saturday (she probably almost fell over reading that text).
Carelessly taking down jello shot after jello shot at a party this weekend and not worrying about the calories (yeah, she's probably the only person in my life who would find some kind of success in that).

I can't speak to the relationships other eating disorder patients develop with their support teams, but the unexpected friendship and support I have derived from working with LA over the last six months has, honestly, changed my life in many ways. It was critical, I believe, that I had someone with whom I could share completely irrational fears about foods, my urges to revert back to old patterns of thinking, and my (seemingly minor, yet very major) successes related to food. Once I learned to trust her and Dr. Joe, their unconditional support allowed me to open up and talk about the eating disorder obsessions in a way I could not with friends or others in my life. LA especially has seen it all.

She remembers me crying the first day we met because mere discussion about food was too much to handle. When I was learning to just sit with food in my system (rather than purging), she received a lot more emotional and panicked phone calls than I care to admit. I sometimes feel a huge sense of pride when I'm able to tackle a challenging "food" moment or eat something I wouldn't have touched several months ago, and in those moments (when anyone else would think I was crazy for getting so excited about "nothing"), I would email or text her to share in my sense of accomplishment. She walked me through each moment, and in the end, we've become pretty tight as a result of it.

So while the thought of ending the office visits scared me a little at first, it didn't take long to realize that I'm ready to take the next steps on my own.

I only had to think about it for a few moments before I also realized that LA will always be there, and that she's not going to just walk away. Given my lack of trust in people, that's really saying something about what she has proven to me in this process.

The stories from my LA office visits have often provided me with a basis for my posts; at times they were emotional, at other times mildly humorous despite the darker issues involved. Somehow, however, I do not think that LA will be disappearing from the blog any time soon.

She told me once "You're stuck with me, kid."

I really hope she means that. For someone who is used to keeping people at an arm's length, she is one person I wouldn't mind at all being "stuck with" in life. She's proven her support to me. I've grown to see her as a respected professional, but also as a friend and oddly enough, another genuine and caring mother figure (much like Mama K...two "mothers" now, uh-oh!). I have been told that I'm the favorite client (on the down-low, of course).

I think (and hope) that somehow makes me unforgettable.

The Brownie Question

2010-12-09T19:34:00.000-08:00

Nearly every day for the last year, my student assistant has come into my office and we have had this routine conversation:

"Hey, M. I'm running to the Campus Center to grab food/coffee/cookie (insert her craving of the moment). Want me to bring you back a peanut butter brownie?"

There was a moment in time, pre-ED, during which I ate peanut butter brownies from the Campus Center a few times a week. I hired my student assistant just before I start really restricting my diet (about a year ago) but she has never forgotten that I, at one point in time, loved those brownies. Ironically, her Brownie Question has remained a constant throughout this year as I went down the anorexia path, and, much to my dismay, she never stopped asking that question even after receiving my "no thanks" reply (literally) hundreds of times.

At times, my thought process when presented with the Brownie Question acted almost as a measurement of my sickness. While I typically said no, there were variations of my internal response, and, looking back, they became almost indicative of my mental state. Here is a random sample:

"No, thank you." (The thought of eating that is positively revloting and I'd have to go run 20 miles to burn it off later, which I don't have the time or energy to do).

"No, thank you." (I am a robot who only consumes raw vegetables...)

"Hmmm....What did you say? Um...." (I'm not even hearing you right now...I'm about to pass out because I haven't had a meal in four days. And please get out of my office because I need to go purge the three raw carrots I just "gave in" and ate)

"Yes! I will have a peanut butter brownie!" (Because I am craving the flavor of one of those pieces of heaven so desperately, but I swear I will throw it up immediately.)

"No, thank you." (Even though my metabolism has finally come alive and I would eat a whole pan of those damn things except I don't have the mental strength to not purge them, and purging is not an option because my esophagus is mangled and destroyed from months and months of repeated vomiting.)

Today, however, when my student assistant sent me an IM stating "Hey, M., going to Campus Center, be right back", I sat and waited for the Brownie Question. It never came. And I thought to myself: Huh...I really wanted a peanut butter brownie today...what's up with that?

I genuinely wanted a peanut butter brownie today. No strings attached. No vow to purge or justifying it with this evening's workout.

The one day I finally decide I will eat a peanut butter brownie, and my student assistant does not pop the question .What the hell.

I had to laugh a little at the irony of the situation. But when I really started to think about it, it hit me just how far I have come. I really, truly, wanted that brownie. Another sign of progress, another subtle indicator that I am winning after all.

Related to winning (and given my love of sharing Dr. Joe stories), I have to recap the email exchange that occured between Dr. Joe and I today.

There have been times in the past in which I have left Dr. Joe's office in a worse depression than when I had arrived. Those days, generally, did not lead to positive outcomes, as I have a hard time just "putting it a lid on it" once we have opened up a can of emotional worms. With time, Dr. Joe has learned to wrap up my sessions with a conversation topic that tends to perk me up a bit: sports/running/competition. While the topic of choice varies slightly, we typically end up talking about running because it is of great interest to both of us.

Yesterday, Dr. Joe asked me how on earth I have been able to not only maintain, but increase my weekly mileage during the winter. I just kind of shrugged. It doesn't seem like a big deal to me that I run in the cold or snow. And Dr. Joe was, in his heyday, a far more serious runner than I currently am. Surely he had to have run through winters back in the day (ok, waaaaaay back in the day...he claims to be old, remember?).

"I don't know. I've just been running in the snow," I replied.

Dr. Joe: "Did you run last weekend?"

Me: "Yes, on trails. I was out for about three hours on Saturday." Now, here was my mistake...I got my days mixed up. I was actually teaching at the gym on Saturday, but had run trails in the snow on Sunday.

He chuckled. "Oh, well, then, Saturday wasn't too bad out."

I'm sure I looked puzzled. No...my run had, actually, been a slightly insane. I had run for three hours in the snow. On trails. In the cold. It wasn't totally extreme, but it really couldn't be described as "not too bad" by someone who apparently does not like to run in the winter.

On the way home, it hit me...Saturday's weather was nice. But I hadn't been out on Saturday. My long, snowy trail run had been on Sunday.

Ever the competitor (and always seeking out opportunities for amusing email exchanges with Dr. Joe), I couldn't have Dr. Joe thinking I believed Saturday's weather was treacherous. It was mild. Plus, Dr. Joe finds my follow-up emails entertaining. So when I got home, I emailed him the following:

Dr. Joe- I misspoke! I was out on SUNDAY not on Saturday running trails...for three hours...in the snow...See?! I'm a lot tougher than you think I am! (I had to make mention of being "tougher than he thinks I am", as the man has continued to seriously doubt my ability to run a 50K this year. While probably a psychological tactic, his doubting irks me and gets under my skin).

This email was also in an effort to passive-agressively harass Dr. Joe for being a fairweather runner and taking the winters off.

For the most part, Dr. Joe responds very quickly to me, even when the content is not therapy-related. He often jumps on an opportunity to tease me or interject one of his ridiculous quotes. But today came and went, and I did not receive a response from Dr. Joe.

A few hours ago, I decided to continue the harassment. I wrote back Aw, come on, Dr. Joe...you're not even going to humor me on that one?!

Immediately, I received a response:

Correct, M. I was not going to humor you and reinforce such behavior... (followed by a smiley face). -Dr. Joe

God love Dr. Joe. I can almost picture him shaking his head (as he often does), laughing to himself, and wondering how the hell he ended up with such a difficult client who keeps pushing the boundaries, sending him provoking emails, and talking at a pace he cannot comprehend.

I'll make sure to let you all know when I eat a peanut butter brownie. My student assistant has tomorrow off, so the next opportunity I will have to answer the Brownie Question will be on Monday...after LA and I have had cupcakes together during my regular morning appointment.

Two desserts on Monday? Hmmm...maybe.

Lightning Speed: Catch Me If You Can

2010-12-08T20:12:00.000-08:00

Ok, I'm now passing Eating Disorder Recovery 101 with flying colors. I'm back to myself and ready to tackle just about anything (well, food-related, that is). I've branched out and consumed some turkey chili, a whole Kashi vegetable pizza, and even some freaking Wendy's.

I should mention those three things were NOT in one sitting. If they had been, I may need to be in therapy for another kind of eating disorder.

So what possessed me to eat such things? I'll set it up for you...

Wendy's was consumed while in LA's presence. She barely reacted to it, but I chowed down on a grilled chicken wrap and a baked potato with butter as she calmly talked me through other issues that have crept back into my life (related to my mother...shocking). After well over an hour of in-depth discussion and unusual dietitian-client bonding, I pointed out to her that I had just digested some fast food. "I know!" She said. "I was trying not to make a big deal out of it, but I can hardly contain myself right now!". Yeah, the woman was psyched.

The Mr., surprisingly, made the turkey chili. I didn't really question the ingredients because I was so impressed that he finally figured out that we do, in fact, have a kitchen, pots, pans, and utensils. I was previously under the impression that I was the only member of the household aware that we own such things...like a well-kept secret. I took the chili to work today and ate it for lunch, assuming it was fairly "safe" since it was made from ingredients in my own house (and trust me...there isn't much in the house of an ED person that isn't pure, healthy, and clean).

As for the Kashi pizza, that was consumed this evening with a huge glass of wine. I usually only eat half of it, but I was starving after working at the university, working at the gym, and meeting with Dr. Joe. I let my hunger dictate what to eat, and it screamed at me that leftovers were not an option. So I ate it all.

I mean, really...who the f$%k cares? Hell, I work out intensely for more hours than most people sleep in a week. I think I'll live.

Are you sensing a change in attitude here? Yeah, me too. I think I'm almost fixed. Nice work, team.

Being the take-charge kind of girl I am, I told (rather, directed) LA that she needed to call Dr. Joe and spread the good news: that I'm eating again, that I'm practically having a normal relationship with food, and that I'm basically kicking ass. Dr. Joe never seems to believe me, so I felt a LA phone call was in order.

(They sometimes do what I ask to make me feel like I'm the one calling the shots).

LA left Dr. Joe a voicemail today singing my praises. I knew about this. So I waited to see if Dr. Joe would mention the voicemail when I arrived at his office a few hours later.

"Well, hello, M.", says Dr. Joe (and I wait for him to acknowledge my amazing progress), "I had a voicemail from LA today and she said you are doing well with food."

I nodded and waited for more. He just stared at me. Was that really it? That's all I get?

Yep, that was it. What the hell does it take for this guy to realize I'm kicking this eating disorder's ass? Perhaps I need to down a dozen cookies in his presence and claim to love it. Who knows.

But I am getting closer to his four-week goal. I'll hold out until then and rely on Happy LA to keep me motivated. It's more fun to share my successes with her anyhow.

And I should probably stop messing with my therapist, although I thoroughly enjoy the humorous moments that we, at times, sprinkle into this process.

In other "messing with Dr. Joe" news...

To make a long story short, yesterday brought about some moments of extreme emotion. My mom ended up in the hospital again, probably due to her inability to manage the severity of her psychiatric illness and her serious dependence on large doses of prescription (and non-prescription) drugs and medications. Although a relationship between my mother and I can best be described as non-existent, these moments of crisis always throw me for a loop and challenge my strength and ability to stay the hell away from the situation.

In the moment of crisis, I did what I have learned to do: called and left a message for Dr. Joe. I was hoping he would just tell me what to do. Or at least help me to simmer down, as I was running high on adrenaline and ready to go tell everyone in my family (namely my mother) exactly what needed to be done (which I eventually did do...but I will spare you of the details). In the message I left for Dr. Joe, I provided two phone numbers: 1. my cell phone (which he knows) and 2. my direct work line (which he does not know).

In true Dr. Joe fashion, I received a slow-motion voicemail later on in the day. Contrary to my fast-paced, mind-on-overdrive approach to life, Dr. Joe's voicemail went a little like this (and I wish you could hear his voice in this quote):

"Hello, M. It is Dr. Joe returning your phone call. I just want to remind you that I am old. You are young and move very quickly. Therefore I cannot keep up with you and understand some of the messages you leave me. The next time that you leave me a message containing phone numbers, please make sure to articulate each number clearly and slowly so I may fully understand where you can be reached. Now that I have both numbers, I will go ahead and now try to reach you on your cell phone, which is the number with which I am more familiar. Talk to you in a minute..."

Even in my furious, wigged-out state, I just had to laugh at Dr. Joe. I often wonder if the man even has a pulse. Come on, Dr. Joe. I know you can do it...just try to keep up, just this once...

I'm sure he was clutching the arm rests on his chair, bracing himself for the tornado that is me when I finally picked up my cell phone, neglected to even say hello, and blurted out "MymomisinthehospitalandIdon'tknowwhattodoandIdon'twanttogobutfeellikeIhavetoandIwanttogotelleveryonetogotohell."

Hey, I just try to keep the guy's life interesting. And he is trying to keep me calm. I guess it is a mutually beneficial therapist-client relationship.

LA and I are going to tackle cupcakes together in our next Monday morning appointment. Since Dr. Joe refuses to get excited about my current progress, I plan to snap a picture of myself eating a cupcake and send it his way as proof that I am, in fact, kicking ass.

Obtaining a legitimate compliment from Dr. Joe is, obviously, not the main motivation behind getting well at the moment. But I have to admit, the challenge of getting it out of him is tapping right into my competitive nature and is making my efforts just that much more worthwhile.

It is possible, I suppose, that I may be talking so damn fast all the time that he isn't even sure what is going on with my food intake. He may not even know that I have an eating disorder. In fact, he may not have understood a word I've said in the last six months.

I really need to cut back on the Starbucks...

A "Rainbow" of Foods

2010-12-06T18:44:00.000-08:00

1. Sweet potato fries
2. Great Lakes Christmas Ale
3. Egg whites and cheese on a multigrain bagel...from a (gasp) drive-thru...and twice!
4. A big bowl of pasta from a restaurant specializing in "noodles" and chosen by an 8-year-old
5. French onion soup....grilled cheese...and 3 cups of hot cocoa (in one sitting)
6. About half of a gourmet brownie
7. Six venti Starbucks Christmas Blends with sugar-free caramel and nonfat milk
8. Approximately 20 alcoholic beverages

No, this is not a menu swiped from a college campus food court, or a list of the foods my husband consumes in a twenty-four hour period. It is, however, a list of the "shocking" foods I ate over the weekend. There were, obviously, plenty of salads and vegetables and such to fill in the blanks, but yes...I ate those things this weekend and I'm okay with it.

Ok...maybe #7 on the list is not that surprising given my recent addiction...but I'm going to include it anyhow.

And LA said take #8 up with Dr. Joe; she's not touching that one. Hey, I was in a lot of emotional pain this week thanks to my family. Leave me be. Hmph.

Regardless, #1-6 are impressive.

My hippie/flowerchild of a boss, D. (who has been overwhelmingly supportive throughout this whole ordeal and throroughly enjoys talking about food no matter the occasion) responded "I just love listening to this. It's like a rainbow of foods. Makes me so happy." While I generally do not relate aspects of my life to "rainbows" (or flowers, or butterflies, or bunny rabbits, or anything else overly 'joyous') my diet is, indeed, slowly moving from black and white to color again.

Surprisingly, I did not wake up this morning with an extra twenty pounds on my frame or having lost all of my lean muscle mass. I still zipped into my small jeans without any major issues, and felt strong, lean, and toned. The world did not end, and I sit here- very much alive- blogging about my very "normal" food weekend.

Something has clicked. I had about four hours alone in the car this weekend (while driving back and forth to my aunt's for a massive shopping spree) to think it all through, and I've come to this conclusion: my love of intense physical activity is what helped to bring about an eating disorder in me...but it's now what is saving me from it and helping me to heal.

That doesn't make a lot of sense. But it's true. Wanting to be able to complete physical challenges, wanting to push myself, feel strong, and to, basically, kick ass. It makes me want to eat. Right or wrong, it works. I can now justify eating almost whatever, just like an athlete should. I am hungry...and it's a sign that my body is plowing through what it's been given and it's time for more. My body hasn't really let me down lately- in fact, it's strength is impressing me- so, what the hell. I'll feed it, I suppose.

The change over to weather conditions similar to those in the Arctic tundra are helping the situation as well. After nearly three hours spent on a trail run in the snow over the weekend, I really could not justify eating a salad (and while stille shivering an hour later). So, while thawing out with my running friends post-run, I decided only the French onion soup, grilled cheese, and massive amounts of hot cocoa would do. I can tell the cold-weather trail running this winter is going to help with the food consumption...when icicles are hanging from my braids and my lips are permanently frozen in position, I am not in the frame of mind to overanalyze meal options. Hot and steamy and a ton of it to make my stomach stop yelling at me...those are about the only requirements.

Mama K and I are texting back and forth right now, even as I am writing this post. We are talking about how our days went (as usual) and I just told her about the food I ate over the weekend. I think my last text to her wraps up my current mindset quite accurately:

"Yeah, I'm really ok. For real. It's time to focus on how strong my body has become and USE IT. I'm killing the endurance stuff and I need to stick with all of it. Just eat, be strong, and do it."

Her response: "I AM SO HAPPY FOR YOU. It has been a long and hard road. But you're there."

I love what I am doing right now. The thought of pursuing some crazy things in the future (marathons, 50Ks, 100-mile trail runs...yes, LA and I talked about the possibility of that this morning...) makes me giddy. I've turned to sports many times in my life to provide me with an outlet for anger, to provide me with alternative routes out of a painful situation, and to give me a sense of accomplishment. There is no denying that my perfectionist, work-hard-play-later approach to life is what hard-wired me for an eating disorder. But there is also no denying that my need for intensity and hard-earned goals has brought me to a place where I can now set aside my need to control food for the sake of becoming a stronger person.

I am so close to the finish line with this eating disorder that I can finally see it. That is not to say that the pain, emotions, and garbage behind it won't linger and need to be dealt with for quite some time. As LA said this weekend: "The food is the easy part...that's why I'm a dietitian and not a psychologist!".

I am looking forward to hearing Dr. Joe's reaction this week when he hears what I ate. While he'll try to cover it up with some kind of nonchalant "almost there..." comment, I'm convinced I'll be able to catch a slight smile or something when I talk about it.

Still trying to make those around me proud...some things never change!

Worth the Wait

2010-12-03T22:34:00.000-08:00

Today was filled with lots of bright spots and hopeful moments.

For starters, I received a phone call from the gym where I teach, and was offered a position as a personal trainer and the opportunity to develop several strong fitness programs. Of course, I knew this was coming...I passed my personal training certification several months ago and have been hanging out in the training pipeline for a little while while the gym was restructuring, establishing a new facility, and transitioning the personal training program to a new coordinator in Mama K's absence.

The timing of this offer could not have been more perfect. There were many moments, especially during the extremely dicey periods of my recovery, that I had seriously questioned my ability to be a trainer. I can remember a few sessions with both LA and Dr. Joe during which I had cried and cried...feeling as though the intense studying and exam preparation had been a waste; that I did not deserve the opportunity to guide others towards their fitness goals. However, I kept reminding myself that:

1. I have never, would never, encourage any client of mine (or individual in my classes, for that matter) to treat their bodies as I have treated mine.

2. Once I found myself firmly planted on the other side of an eating disorder, I would possess a unique perspective on health, fitness, and training that can only be gained as a result of hindsight and experience.

Whenever I doubted my place in the industry, I reminded myself of those two points. Deep down, despite my own battles, I've always known I will one day be a good trainer to others.

While I do not consider myself fully recovered from my eating disorder, I do feel as though my confidence in training others has been restored. I once again feel as though I do deserve the opportunity to share my passion for the field and knowledge of exercise physiology with others. Do I recognize the fact that being fully recovered would be the ideal state in which to accept a training position? Yes. But I also feel as though I may have reached a stable enough place in this process to begin to trust my knowledge and instincts again. More importantly, my confidence- both in myself and my ability to succeed- has been restored slowly over the last several months.

When I took the exam tied to my personal training certification five months ago, I was not in a good place. I had studied my ass off, spent hours each night learning medical terminology, physiology, anatomy, and physics. I wanted to be a trainer because I knew I could. I knew I was smart enough to master the content, and had enough of an athletic background to apply it. Back then, it was strictly about knowledge. Facts. Diagrams. Formulas. Numbers. The perfect equations to produce any results a client could ever ask for.

I passed my personal training exam (mind you- one of the most in-depth and difficult personal training exams out there) on my twenty-eighth birthday, after The Mr. had convinced me that I had studied enough and had what it took to pass the damn thing. I had just arrived home from an out-of-state personal training workshop the day before, had barely eaten, and purged four times the day of the exam. I remember it all distinctly. I also weighed almost twenty pounds lighter than what I do now, and, despite filling my brain to the brim with extensive knowledge about muscles, the cardiac cycle, and bone structure...I was literally unable to apply a single piece of it to my own life. Somehow, brain-starved and in denial about the deteriorating state of my own body, I passed the exam with flying colors. I called Mama K in tears, in complete disbelief over the fact that I had singlehandedly- with very little science background and preparation- passed one of the most difficult certifications in the industry.

I didn't tell her how utterly shocked I was that I was able to pass the exam given how sick I was becoming. I wouldn't go to her for help until almost two months later. I was so proud to have passed the exam, but also felt like a complete fraud. And when my certification arrived in the mail several days later, I clung to it with intense pride, but also shoved it in between two books on my shelf, ashamed to think that I was was living a life so counterintuitive to what I had just spent months learning.

I had the textbook knowledge. I could answer any question about heart rate, caloric burn, exercise physiology. I could name all of the major muscles of the body, could tell you the difference between motions in the saggital and transverse planes, and could calculate an individual's BMI without thinking twice. But what I didn't have was confidence, a belief in the material I had mastered, or the sense of self-worth to apply it all to my own training and life.

Now I do.

Being offered a personal training position at my gym seems relatively insignificant, given the fact that 1. I knew it was enventually coming, and 2. fitness is not currently my full-time job and/or the source of the majority of my monthly income. However, to me, taking this step has lifted my spirits, reminded me that it will soon be time to give back, and that I now have unique insight (whether I choose to share it with clients or not) that not many other trainers possess.

I cannot wait to see where this path takes me. I earned the privilege of training others months ago when I passed my training exam; but now I feel as though I have developed the strength to actually pursue it and succeed at it. This will be, when my own therapy and recovery is all said and done, the outlet through which I give back, share my love of physical activity, and help others love their bodies for the strength and function they provide.

Being offered a spot on the personal training team at my gym was well worth the wait.

This is one accomplishment I don't mind if others don't see or acknowledge; it is truly for me. Sure, there will be people in my life (just as there were several months ago) who do not think I should work with clients. There will be people who will downplay my successes or tell me I should permanently step away from the fitness industry. But those who know me best know that I: 1. have changed dramatically as a result of this eating disorder; 2. genuinely love physical activity, training, and (at times) competition and want to share it with others; and 3. would never, ever advise others to treat their bodies in the same way I have (my eating disorder is and was, clearly, a manifestation of self-destruction and anger, and not at all indicative of my philosophy on exercise and training).

I cling to my treatment team and will continue to do so until I feel confident enough to gradually step away from them and back into this new post-treatment life of mine. As mentioned before, this opportunity has come along a little sooner than I would have liked, but it is also something I have waited for and worked towards...now is not the time to turn my back on it. If anything, it has motivated me to work harder, and provided me with yet another tangible reason to permanently heal.

I'm proud of myself, hopeful, and confident again. It has been a long time since I've been able to say that. I can't wait to get started...and am thankful to those who believe in me and share my happiness.

In other news...I had sweet potato fries this evening while out to dinner with The Mr. to celebrate. No fried foods...remember that rule? I broke it. Overcoming an eating disorder is one of few situations in which breaking the "rules" is not only allowed, but encouraged.

And the choice to eat (and enjoy them!) was not even the result of an LA challenge.

Ha! On a roll...

Taken Down a Notch By Dr. Joe

2010-12-01T21:03:00.000-08:00

Holy shit, I just downed a giant sized bowl of whole wheat pasta with zucchini and tomato sauce, and I don't really care. In a matter of hours (and thanks to Dr. Joe and his psychotherapy techniques) I have suddenly become an emotional eater. The fact that I ate a bowl of pasta for dinner and don't really even mind is significant because:

I used to (ok, still kind of do) have a rule about pasta: it can only be eaten before a race, swim meet, or very, very long training run.
I chose to use today as a rest day and therefore did not engage in any physical activity with the exception of running back and forth to the printer at work all day long.
I ate the pasta just before 10:00 (yes, I am just now having dinner...long day), and while LA says the whole "eating late" thing is a myth, I still kind of think she is lying about that.
It was covered in more parmesan cheese than even a normal person would probably consume in one sitting, let alone someone who recently engaged in self-starvation.

While eating this dinner, I couldn't help but think of another time a Dr. Joe session led me to eat something outside of the norm. He is not at all aware that he has this effect on me, but would be pleased to know that his work with me often leads to eating behaviors beyond my usual restrictions.

I adore Dr. Joe. I really do. LA is always reminding me that there are reasons behind his approaches with me, and I drag my heels but believe her. Mama K says the same thing and just tells me to go with the flow (yeah, never really been a strength of mine).

Despite the recent family chaos, I was somehow able to pull it together well enough to live a pretty normal life the last few days; I am feeling extremely in control of my eating disorder, have been listening to my body's hunger cues, and focusing on building strength. I am approaching double digit days without purging. While I seem to have developed a new lack of trust in others (thank you, family, for that), I have remained focused on my own personal goals and kept those I do trust close by.

I had even said more than once (either to others or to myself): "I feel more like myself right now than I have in almost a year!". I felt it was time for a toast. A shot of tequila. A puff on a celebratory cigar (just kidding, I don't smoke). However, Dr. Joe, forever the party-pooper, took me down a few notches.

This makes Dr. Joe sound like a downer, but in reality, he is not. He's doing his job, and he is making certain I am not running from my thoughts or slipping into denial. As a result of working with me so closely over the last six months, he has fine-tuned his radar and is able to sniff out denial the second I turn my back on life's major issues.

While I hate to admit it, I did need to be reeled in. Sure, I was on cloud nine over the last few days, celebrating successes, picking up the pace in my life, and just starting to go back into the overdrive that propels my life forward. But, in reality, I had just reverted back (though on a smaller scale) to the patterns that allow me to run from my pain and fear just as I have done countless times in the past. He caught it, and while I hated being brought down a few rungs and forced to think, it is evident that he knows me well and is doing his job.

When I told him I felt my eating disorder was under control, he reminded me that four weeks without purging and/or starvation is his pre-determined benchmark for "being under control". Excellent progress, says Dr. Joe, but not under control just yet, M.

I sulked a little after that. I secretly wished he could find it in himself to express his pride the way LA, Mama K, The Mr., Dr. K, and others do. I guess they will have to continue to serve as the cheerleaders until he comes around. Two and a half weeks to go, and then and he better throw some damn encouragement my way. Until then, I will keep his "four week" benchmark in my head and work like hell to make it there and beyond.

As if his "not quite there" comment wasn't enough of a downer, he then proceeded to make me process through the events of the past weekend (read: talk about my feelings). I curled my legs under me to sit cross-legged on the sofa (which I always do there, I don't know why) and braced myself to answer his questions.

Dr. Joe knew about the weekend's happenings because I had emailed him on Sunday night. We communicate via email regularly, but mostly when something major happens in between appointments so that he is in the loop and we don't have to spend the majority of an hour appointment just catching up on the details (you'd be surprised how quickly these appointments fly by). I'm usually pretty open in this blog, but I am having a hard enough time dealing with these recent family developments during a session with my therapist, let alone on in a public forum. For that reason, I'm going to be a little vague, but here is some general background information on my upbringing:

My mother is a very, very sick person. It is not necessarily her fault, but she has suffered from some pretty extreme mental illness throughout most of my life.
My family has been broken apart by many tragedies, including several suicides.
I have major abandonment/trust issues thanks to some of the events of my past.
My strong will and extreme drive helped me break free from a pretty bad situation...and also has hard-wired me for perfectionism and, unbeknowst to me until recently, eating disorder behaviors!

For most of my life, I have questioned whether my upbringing was truly as traumatic as I felt it was, or whether my mind had blown it all out of proportion. As an adult, I have justified many of the experiences, tried to make excuses for those around me, or attempted to normalize my previous environment. I'm not sure why I did so, but I think it has to do with the fact that no one around me had ever fully understood the severity of the situation or witnessed the extreme dysfunction in its truest form.

In the midst of another bout of my mom's suicidal behaviors over the weekend, I met with my aunt on Saturday evening. We are close in age, have supported one another throughout many ups and downs in our family history, and spent a great deal of time together as part of an inseparable threesome that included my grandmother prior to her death. She currently lives about two hours from me, but had come into the area to bear witness to the auction of her brother's (my uncle's) belongings after his recent suicide death.

As a result of her pain over the recent suicide of her brother and my mother's (her sister) deteriorating mental state, she began a very open and honest conversation with me regarding my childhood. For the first time in twenty-eight years, I was given a clear, firsthand, eye-witness look at what my life was like as a kid. For the first time, I had stories and facts to go along with my feelings.

It was frightening.

I had not been wrong.

My memories, my pain, my anger...real and justified. For years I had questioned the validity of what I had seen, assuming that witnessing it all through child's eyes had somehow warped and twisted reality. But I had been right all along, and her stories painted a picture for me.

Filled in the missing colors.

Locked together the puzzle pieces I could not figure out.

Despite all of the painful moments in my life, that conversation felt like a knife in my chest. It closed me up immediately. I instantly became wary of others in my life, untrusting, and skiddish. I started to question the intentions and loyalty of those around me, even related to those uninvolved in the situation. I started to think to myself Everything I have ever wondered about the people in my life must be true. I am crazy to believe anyone cares about me. People cannot be trusted. It was too much to handle at one time, my mind unable to process all of the facets and angles involved. On Saturday night, despite the intensity of it all, I one again wrapped it up, put it on the shelf, and buried the pain deep.

In the meantime, until tonight, I just bottled up the anger. I narrowly focused my mind on producing large amounts of work in the office. I ran one of the fastest 3-mile speed workouts I have ever run while trying to release the anger and pain. I trashed my leg muscles while teaching my cycling class. I downed glass after glass of wine each night. I felt great. I felt amazing. I was on cloud nine.

Until Dr. Joe saw the reality of the situation tonight and made me talk. And thank god for that.

I am absolutely making progress, and the eating disorder is on its way to being controlled (despite the fact that I have two and a half weeks until Dr. Joe will acknowledge that). I'm still proud of the fact that I didn't immediately turn to the eating disorder to help deal with the pain. To me, that is a large success.

I am learning (and LA helps me to see this) that Dr. Joe wants me to learn to sit with the emotions. Productive, happy, functional days are not true successes if they are rooted in denial. I'm not truly "back to myself" just because I'm cranking out work and keeping a jam-packed schedule afloat...especially if those patterns are really just distractions for the anger that lies beneath the surface.

Sitting with emotions, especially the intense ones (stemming from this weekend, for example) is my least favorite part of this whole therapy gig. I would much rather dive right back into my life and push them all aside like I've done for so long. However, I'm learning that doing so offers nothing more than a band-aid, a short-term fix. Those band-aids, even over time, have not completely healed the wounds or even covered them up. Trying to overcome this eating disorder has brought me as close as I have ever been to healing these wounds long-term. I have to keep remembering that sitting with the emotions, while painful, will help all the anger and hurt to dissolve for good.

High from recent successes, I entered Dr. Joe's office today with a bit of cockiness. I've almost got this thing beat, I thought. Dr. Joe can start to clear me from his calendar because I will no longer be needing his services, thankyouverymuch.

False bravado. Wrong again. He is right. I hate that.

It appears as though pulling back the eating disorder "band-aid" has just uncovered a few more battle scars. Looks like Dr. Joe and I will be hanging out a bit longer.

And if he thinks I am going to forget his "four week" benchmark, he is dead wrong. I am not the kind of person to set a goal and leave it unfulfilled. He had better start preparing his "Nice work, kid, you did it" comments now, because I will be sure to collect them in about two and a half weeks.

I would say that, while we still have work to do, there is really no denying that the "old" me is back ;)

Is It Disordered?

2010-11-29T18:58:00.000-08:00

I had a conversation with LA this morning that made me think...as they so often do. Hey, that's what she is paid for, I suppose.

I am really starting to make big strides in terms of getting back to a normal relationship with food and my body, which led to an interesting discussion about some of my lingering weirdness related to nutrition.

Since I've established a pretty good pattern recently of actually eating, LA decided it's time to revisit the fear food list yet again. We have never really gotten very far into the list in the past, as a short relapse, medical issue, or my own balking has halted the progress. But here we are again, talking about the fear foods, and while LA didn't come right out and say it, I sense it is time to start coming to terms with them.

The discussion over fear foods is what prompted the "is it disordered?" topic. Sure, I still carry some irrational fear over things like salad dressing, butter, pasta (unless the night before a race!). But my list of fear foods also includes things that are fried, desserts, processed foods, and most foods that I either a.) have not prepared myself or b.) cannot determine the ingredient list by looking at it. Our discussion got me thinking about the line where a lifestyle ends and an eating disorder begins. LA has asked this question before; however, I was never really in the frame of mind to engage in conversation about it until now.

With the health-concious movement in this country gaining momentum on a seemingly daily basis, many new philosophies about food and nutrition have emerged and attracted followers. It is not uncommon to talk with people who are cutting out processed foods, recreating restaurant favorites at home, or "healthifying" old-school recipes. Millions of people have added sodas, grease, high fructose corn syrup, sugar substitutes, and other "bad-for-you" choices to their own personal lists of "off-limit" foods. It has also becoming more socially acceptable to live a vegetarian or vegan-based lifestyle, and even the reasons behind these choices (morality, health, or otherwise) are questioned less and less.

As our country has shifted focus to weight-related issues and the obesity epidemic, the relationship between food and physical activity is played out in everyday life and interactions as well. As someone who works in the fitness industry- even on a part-time basis- I cannot tell you how many times I hear variations of the following:

"I'll be here (at the gym) an extra hour today to make up for all the nachos I inhaled during the game!"

"I'm not getting off this treadmill until it hits 400 calories burned!" (and very few know that the number on the screen is a complete falsification, but whatever).

"I need to do at least a hundred crunches today to get rid of this beer gut."

And even at the office:

"I needed that Hershey Kiss like I need a hole in my head."

"I'm working through lunch today, I ate enough this weekend to feed me for the week!"

"I'm taking the stairs to the fourth floor...my ass is getting larger by the minute."

On Thanksgiving morning, LA's gym was full of people sweating on the cardio machines...do you think they all came in just for fun? Sure, they may have been enjoying themselves, but let's be real here...they were there for a purpose. And that purpose was to get a workout in before stuffing their faces full of holiday faire.

It's all around...so where does the line between lifestyle and eating disorder lie?

Well, I received a "gold star" (hypothetical, of course, as LA doesn't hand out stars) for my insightful answer: when it becomes an obsession and/or interferes with life.

For me, I had crossed over onto the eating disorder side:

When I decided a few handlfuls of raw vegetables a day (and nothing else) would be enough to sustain an 8-hour workday and 3-hour workouts...not to mention other basic daily functions.
The first time I had even considered intentionally throwing food back up as an acceptable option to control my body's response to eating.
When my obsession with starving kept me from engaging in social activities involving food.
After repeatedly ignoring the signs that my body was rapidly deteriorating from starvation, lack of nutrients, and the jarring effects of purging three times a day.

It was a rapid descent into Eating Disorder Land once I stepped over the invisible line, that's for sure. Within just a year, my new "lifestyle" had taken its toll. Messed up bloodwork and labs, cracked bones, colorless skin, never-ending headaches, drying and thinning hair, involuntary vomiting when actually trying to eat something out of the ordinary. It's hard to say at what point, exactly, I crept over to the other side. But it was a dangerous first step, whatever it was.

Given the fine line between the two, however, it is difficult to determine exactly when I will be deemed "recovered". Of course, there are the obvious signs of recovery (no purging, actually eating food). However, I will probably always approach food with a critical eye, now that I have battled an eating disorder. So if I never eat a piece of fried food ever again, continue to eat only "clean" foods, and reserve desserts for special occasions only...will I still be considered to have an eating disorder? Or am I just another person trying to make health-concious choices?

I do, at times, think that experiencing an eating disorder is a little like recovering from alcoholism or other addictions...the voice continues throughout life, but is just managed a little better through the application of new coping skills. I know that, as a result of this eating disorder, I will always look at food and my own body image a little differently than most. But there will also always be plenty of perfectly "normal" people with whom I can relate on the topics of restriction, dieting, and weight conciousness...because we're all thinking about it, at least for a few minutes each day.

When you look at our society, it's almost as though we are all a little weird when it comes to our attitudes towards food and weight. So is it disordered?

(Note: I know I definitely have an eating disorder...there is no question about that. I am not looking for confirmation as to whether or not my diagnosis is correct, or to justify/criticize the following behaviors. I'm just asking for the questions to hear what others think.)

Is it disordered to...

not eat meat?
eliminate food groups?
count calories?
exercise before/after large meals in an effort to "make up for it?"
refuse to eat processed foods?
stick to a vegan diet?
limit the use of butter, condiments, sauces, dressings?
reserve certain foods for special occasions only?

What do you think? Where is the line?

And a second question...how many of you think LA should give out gold stars for insightful answers? And if I earned, let's say, five of them...wouldn't that clothing allowance be the perfect prize?

Finally Connecting the Dots

2010-11-28T15:47:00.000-08:00

This process is changing me.

I knew it would, which is the reason I began to write a few months ago in the first place. I wanted to document this journey, capture the emotions and thoughts, and be able to read it all back at a later date and (hopefully) see signs of growth. Today, I see it.

Thanksgiving went well, despite the morning's torrential downpour. Thanks to the rain, I decided to skip out on the five-mile race (Please note: I am usually hardcore about running/racing/competing despite weather conditions, this was a tough decision). I, of course, decided that some form of exercise was a necessity in order to comply with "The Plan" for Thanksgiving, so LA snuck me into her facility (the gym where I work was closed for the holiday) to go run out five miles sans sleet and rain. We agreed to keep this secret from Dr. Joe, both got our daily cardio in, and headed in our separate directions to feast on the turkey/carb fest otherwise known as Thanksgiving.

At my father's house, I had "normal people" amounts of turkey, mashed potatoes, and stuffing. I stuck to the plan and even had a small piece of pumpkin roll. I ate, let it go, and focused my attention on football (always a priority of mine on Thanksgiving Day). Two days later, I'm still okay with "indulging" in that meal, and honestly, haven't really thought about it much since I took in that last bite of pumpkin roll. The whole process was, surprisigly, not as painful or anxiety-producing as I previously thought. I think I might even do it again sometime...perhaps in about twelve months or so (kidding).

It was somewhere in between the Thanksgiving meal, Black Friday shopping, and family drama that I realized my obsession with all things food/weight/calorie related is diminishing and that I am starting to just live again.

For starters, The Mr. just had to have some cliche red-and-green holiday candy around the house, so proceeded to purchase two bags of holiday M&M's while out at Target. When we returned home on Friday night (after about eight hours of shopping, mind you), he dumped the contents into one of our big, gaudy snowflake dishes and set it out on the counter like a centerpiece (that's about as far as his "holiday decorating" goes).

Throughout my workday, I hear others complain about the magnetic pull an open and visible candy dish possesses, yet I have forgotten what the subconcious candy reach feels like. However, the M&M dish on the counter has pulled me in several times since it has been placed on the countertop, and I haven't really thought twice about it. I had some long runs this weekend, went about my usual routine (which included hanging out with The Mr. and friends, of course), and didn't let food move over to the driver's seat.

While out shopping on Friday, we stopped at a Mexican place I enjoyed pre-ED and took a dinner break. I ate a chicken quesadilla with vegetables and some pico de gallo. On Saturday, I had a post-run egg and cheese bagel and coffee with running friends, some pizza while watching the OSU-Michigan game, and an overabundance of wine throughout the day. I took some chances, ate what I wanted within moderation, and I still lived to tell about it.

What a concept.

The real test will be tomorrow when I go to get ready for work...the dreaded "oh shit nothing fits!" moment (which, by the way, those moments are supposed to happen when you're trying to get healthy- but triggering nonetheless). Thankfully, I had some moments of clarity and motivation this weekend that I can attempt to tap into if/when ED decides to call me fat, lazy, or sloppy as a result of letting up on the Food Control over the last few days. My moments of clarity included:

1. Trail running in the woods on Saturday, feeling strong and wanting a powerful body in order to complete a 50K trail run (slated for Summer 2011). I want to cross that goal off my bucket list even more than becoming a parent at this current moment (no worries- I still want to be a parent...just after completing the 50K).

2. Watching football, eating pizza. A momentary return to pre-ED weekend self.

3. A glimpse of my body in the mirror, wearing a sports bra and Under Armour shorts, during which I thought Muscles are back, looking strong and tough, like I could kick someone's ass if I tapped into my God-given Irish temper. Niiiice.

4. Running ten miles under my normal pace this morning and feeling amazing doing it. A return to strength, to health. I could literally feel the change. I texted LA and told her I'd eat anything she wanted me to and would move up five sizes after that run (I hope she knows I was being sarcastic...I may eat anything she wanted me to because I do trust her; but going up five sizes may be a bit much at this point...).

5. Seeing Mama K and her husband today (in town for the holidays). It wasn't too long ago I was with them at their new house in Florida, but I've already changed a lot since the last time they saw me in person. They are like family to me, and remain a constant in my life. Knowing I am a little more together than I was the last time they saw me helped to keep me moving towards the overall goal: health.

I should also mention that theses moments of clarity and quieted eating-disordered mind were even more impressive given some of the family chaos that I was sucked into yesterday. I won't go into details, but let me just say...the world in which I grew up is not okay and continues to interfere with my adult life despite my best efforts to barricade and hunker down. In the past, I've slipped into self-destructive behaviors when the chaos ensues and it becomes too much to take ("this shit is f-ed up and I'm hurting and oh my god this is all too much to take....ooooooh, let's start counting calories and picking out my flaws instead...."). But this time around, I somehow kept my mind off the pain while simultaneously maintaining the laxed attitude about food. Huge success in my book. Dots are connecting all over the damn place.

I've said it before and will say it again tonight in this post...these moments happen: good and bad. However, this holiday weekend was, by comparison, a long stretch of positive attitude and a relaxed approach to food/body/weight- worth a few touchdowns at least. And to continue on with Dr. Joe's football references, the fact that I maintained this attitude throughout a major food-heavy holiday (probably the most food-heavy of the holidays) is like a successful two-point conversion, an added bonus. The family garbage of yesterday has got to earn me at least a field goal or two.

Scratch that...the fact that I stayed semi-grounded during the family garbage is worth another touchdown. Hands down.

I'm not really sure who I am competing against here (Dr. Joe?), but I think I'm up at the moment. Connecting the dots, seeing the patterns, running interference and studying the X's and O's...it's starting to make a little more sense.

Game Day: Thanksgiving and the Blitz

2010-11-24T19:31:00.000-08:00

Ok, so here we are, on the eve of a major eating holiday. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, the day on which overstuffing and overindulging are the cornerstones of this American holiday. Perhaps my senses are simply more alert this year, given the food-driven life I currently lead, but I am picking up a lot more "it's a day to get fat!" chatter this year than ever before. A local radio station was talking to listeners about their average Thanksgiving caloric intake (fast fact: did you know the average American will have a 3,000 calorie meal on Thanksgiving?), and I heard a student today tell a friend she always wears sweat pants to her family dinner to accomodate the bulge she will develop throughout the course of the day. It's actually fascinating to listen to people prepare for the traditional holiday face-stuffing as though it were an Olympic sport.

I, like most others, find the American tradition of gluttonous Thanksgiving feasts to be humorous. We can never do anything in moderation, now can we?

The Mr. and I handle the food piece of major holidays differently. He, like many others, skips breakfast and intends to eat one and only one meal: a massive, balls-to-the-walls, stuff-me-until-I-explode plate of food. He then skips dinner and probably breakfast the next day, too. He somehow draws energy from that one meal for days before his metabolism finally limps back to normalcy and becomes ready for processing yet again.

In my previous life (pre-eating disorder), I approached the meal as just that: a meal. I still ate my regular breakfast, kept the holiday feast to a slightly larger version of a normal meal, and ate another dinner later on to round out the day. I never really stuffed myself into a food coma, rather, kept to a regular schedule. I'm not sure why I took that approach, exactly, except that I have never liked the feeling of being extremely full, even before the onset of my eating disorder.

I left LA's office about an hour ago, where she prepped me for my first recovery Thanksgiving as though I will be going off to war. A "high-risk situation" she called it...I would have to agree. I've been thinking about how to approach the day and the meal all week, and was thankful to see her the night before so we could talk it through. Plus, thanks to a work commitment on Monday morning (when I usually meet with LA), I hadn't seen her for ten days and told her I had forgotten what she looked like. It was definitely time to check in.

LA started off by asking me where my anxiety about tomorrow's meal comes from, and I started to list off the usual fears:

Social pressure to eat more than usual (this time would be from family who are not aware of my eating disorder), or be subjected to the "you don't eat enough and are far too skinny" comments.
Not knowing the ingredient list behind every food on the table, therefore wondering whether or not I'm eating something that breaks my completely irrational set of self-imposed "rules".
Eating too much and wanting to purge, therefore probably inducing the pain and additional vomiting I've been experiencing (oh yeah, we're finding there is a link between the two...did I mention that?).

Just after I listed these usual fears (all of which she has heard from me before), the real reason for the fear hit me. While the fears listed above are always present, I realized my anxiety about managing Thanksgiving is slightly different...

It used to be my favorite meal. It's stacked with my favorite foods...all of which I now avoid. I realized that Thanksgiving is different than other celebrations, parties, and holidays. I really want to enjoy it, given that mashed potatoes, stuffing, and any dessert involving pumpkin would all be included in my hypothetical "last meal" request.

Okay, so you are thinking You love all these foods and are running a 5-mile race a few hours before the meal...what is the problem here? Go ahead and enjoy for once...

The problem is that I still carry the black and white thinking that helped me to eat as little as possible during my sickest period. When in starvation/restriction mode, I stayed the hell away from any foods that I loved because they presented a risk of overeating. As someone in the throes of anorexia, I had trained myself to ignore hunger and cravings. Food, when actually consumed, was kept to a minimal amount and only used to keep me from passing out. That was it. Given how hungry I was back then, I knew that even just one bite of something I had previously loved would have led to an out of control "binge" (again...relative term...I was never one to actually "binge" by most people's standards). Back then, I viewed a binge as a failure, given that my ultimate goal was to exist on as little food as possible. Overeating was the ultimate sign of weakness.

So now I'm eating again, quite regularly in fact. But when dealing with an eating disorder, the brain is a little slower to catch up. It's one thing to treat the physical symptoms, to rebuild metabolism and restore weight. It's another, more difficult challenge to retrain the mindset that drove the eating disorder in the first place.

What I realized with LA tonight is that my biggest fear about Thanksgiving is this:

I love the foods involved.
If I eat just a little of each, I will want more- especially since I have deprived myself.
If I take more, I will not be able to stop.
If I am not able to stop, I will binge.
If I sense that I have binged, I will purge.
Conclusion (and reason for the fear) = Staying away from the foods I once loved ensures this cycle will never begin in the first place.

I am convinced that if I eat it at all, I will not be able to stop. All or nothing. Black or white.

So LA and I developed a game plan, which I intend to stick to because, well, I am not one to back down when faced with a challenge. The game plan is this:

Take a regular sized plate and fill it will small amounts of what I want.
Sit with The Mr. and eat slowly while engaging in conversation (this will require The Mr.'s cooperation).
Sip wine while eating (uh, yeah, that is not usually a problem).
Make sure The Mr. is on board with "running interference" (LA's exact words), which includes making sure I do not go back for more than what is on the plate (therefore leading to guilt about "bingeing" later on).
Immediately distract after eating...watching football, going for a quick walk, go talk to a relative are all acceptable options.
Try as best I can to move on, forget about the meal, and continue with the rest of my life.
Use the workouts, runs, and training I have planned for the long weekend as motivation to continue to fuel and resist purging. (The exercise bulimia part of my eating disorder is much more under control, and these now act as the "carrots" dangling in front of me to keep me eating properly and maintaining strength. The professionals know this approach works for me, as long as I do not exceed Dr. Joe's "hours per week" exercise limit).

So we have a Thanksgiving game plan, LA and I. I'll stick to it and make us both proud.

As for Dr. Joe, he has also jumped on the "game plan" bandwagon this week with another one of his ever-amusing treatment approaches. True to his Psychologist-Slash-Athlete swagger, Dr. Joe has somehow mashed two very unrelated topics together to create a new therapy approach: body image and...football.

Yes, football. And body image. You read that correctly.

I thought Dr. Joe's eyes lit up when he used to drop the "Just Do It" Nike reference back in the day...but that was nothing compared to the sheer joy the man seemed to experience while relating my poor body image to gridiron plays. I sensed that he had been saving this therapy approach for years, just waiting for the perfect eating disordered female football fan to walk through the door and soak up his blitz approach to body image. I made his day by being that patient.

Body Image According to Dr. Joe:

The setting: Imagine Dr. Joe sitting on the edge of his seat like my old volleyball coach used to, excited beyond belief to share this with me.

Dr. Joe: "Ok, M. All the messages that run through your head related to your body and eating are like the blitz. What happens when the quarterback doesn't properly read the blitz?"

Me: "He is sacked."

Dr. Joe (beaming with pride that I can follow along with this game reference): "Right! It means the quarterback didn't see what was coming, and didn't pick the right play. He should have dumped the ball, ran for the first down, or switched direction. Instead, he is left picking himself off the ground and wondering what signs he missed. Your eating disorder voice is like the blitz. If you start to starve or purge, you just got sacked. You misread the blitz or used the wrong play."

Me: "Okay. I get it."

Dr. Joe: "And you can't scramble! Just avoid the quarterback scramble...because sometimes it will work, but other times it won't and you'll be dusting off the dirt wondering how the hell you just got sacked. Reading the blitz and applying the right play is the best way to stay on your feet."

In that moment, I stopped thinking about my eating disorder and really just wanted to talk to Dr. Joe about the NFL. But I tried to refocus. Blitz = negative messages. Sack = reverting to eating disorder. Read the blitz, don't scramble, pick the right play. Got it.

Our "talk" stuck with me. But I laughed the whole way home imagining Dr. Joe trying to use his passionate football approach with a room full of female adolescent eating disorder patients staring at him blankly wondering why the hell the man is talking in a foreign language.

This Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for the therapist and dietitian who have gotten to know me so well that they can tap into what makes me tick and use it to help me get better. Game plans, sports, running, blitzes, quarterback references, sacks...hey, I don't know of anybody else on the planet who could bring this eating disorder therapy down to my level quite like these two.

Happy Thanksgiving, all.

Reliving Puberty

2010-11-22T19:54:00.000-08:00

Remember the days we used to wake up, step out of our pajamas, take a look in the mirror, and think to ourselves what the F&#K happened to my body overnight?!

I had my fair share of those mornings, oh, about fifteen years ago. One day I suddenly had a chest, the next my picture-perfect skin was home to a new crop of zits, and on another my hips had doubled in size. I didn't think it was all that fun back then, and I think it is a crime I have to experience it a second time.

You think I am exaggerating (sigh...here she goes again, ranting about putting on a few pounds), but I have been thinking about this whole body image thing a lot this week and the best way to describe the changes are to equate them to the pubescent experience. Of course, I know I need to go through this to become healthy again. I know I am far too active to double in size overnight, or even in a matter of months. I know I cannot go from running on empty to eating like a normal person without some moderate weight gain.

But, dammit, I bet you my year's salary you would be hard pressed to find anyone recovering from an eating disorder who accepts weight restoration and refeeding with open arms. So before you go all "yes, but you just need to suck it up and get healthy" on me (which, yes, I know, thank you very much), just let me bitch a little bit about my very own adult version of puberty.

Trust me, you'd be bitching too. And it wouldn't be pretty (remember your hormones during that time?).

This week, the body is changing by the hour. I hate it and I've thrown little tantrums every time I notice The Change of the Moment. Seemingly overnight I have once again grown an ass, developed hips around my once-protruding hip bones (not a pretty look, I don't really miss that, but still), and started to fill out my bras yet again. Most annoying of all is the softness around my waistline. For nearly a year I have had not an ounce of excess skin around my middle and a very flat stomach (at times, probably sunken actually...but who knows...I couldn't see it), and as I've inched towards health the slightest little layer of softness has appeared and now covers my ribs (I'm sure that's a good thing). My old body- wrecked by starvation and purging- resembled that of a pre-pubescent girl...bony, stick-like. The new body is trying to grow back into the curves and muscles I once had...yet it differs somehow. I'm no longer the stick figure, but my body isn't exactly going back to its old form either. It's a new, unfamiliar feeling that is taking some getting used to.

I know other people cannot see any of this. However, it is very real to me.

LA and I talk about body image a lot, even though she is not a therapist. I like to talk to her about it because she is 1. a woman, 2. an athletic woman like me, and 3. reminds me that health and strength are the ultimate goals and will be worth the mental anguish when it's all said and done. I especially like it when she validates what I am feeling with science, which helps to make me feel a lot less crazy. For example, she explained to me that the softness around my midsection may not be in my head; rather, that a lot of people trying to restore weight after an eating disorder will gain their weight in that location first. Over time, the body will pull from that weight and redistribute it to other parts of the body to develop more muscle.

Music to my ears. In that case, I'll try to leave it be. Thanks, LA.

I think the most frustrating part of weight restoration is that, for me, it seems like a very isolating process. While Dr. Joe has helped me to open up more to those in my life and talk through my emotions (as an alternative to throwing them up, burning them off, or not eating to turn them off), I just don't feel right expressing my frustration, depression, and anger about gaining weight.

For starters, as I have mentioned before, most people would roll their eyes in disgust the second someone my size begins to rant about curvy hips, a "flabby" midsection, or thicker thighs. While the anxiety over my changing body is often crippling, expressing any form of real emotion related to these areas comes across as desperate, attention-seeking, or ungrateful. After all, many would consider my current body to be the ideal. However, to me, it sometimes represents laziness and imperfection. It is all a matter of perspective; unfortunately, a lack of perspective is often what fuels the development of an eating disorder in the first place.

Secondly, the eating disordered mind has a way of warping the "compliments" that are often thrown casually into conversations about healthy weight gain. The eating disorder translates the following we're-so-proud-of-you comments as:

"You don't look sick anymore!" = I've changed. The weight gain is obvious. Shit, I thought it was just in my head.

"You look like your old self!" = I apparently look like I did before I developed the eating disorder, which was obviously fat and sloppy or else I would have never felt the need to drop half of my body weight in the first place.

"You have curves again!" = Yep, it's confirmed. I have love handles. Those were not in my imagination.

"Your face has that healthy glow!" = That comment is reserved for pregnant woman in their third trimester, so I must currently resemble one. All the fat has settled into my cheeks and I have apparently developed a double chin.

You get the picture. It's a messed up world inside here, let me tell you.

Thirdly, it's hard to admit that something as trivial and superficial as physical appearance actually has the power to rule my life. For example, there are mornings on which I do not want to get out of bed and be seen by people, thanks to the distorted perception I have of my own body. Now, most people who know me know I have a very strong work ethic and there isn't much that keeps me from tackling the day's to-do list. Given that fact, you can imagine how painful and real these moments must be in order to keep me from facing the day.

Now imagine picking up the phone and calling a confidant to say "I just (sob) can't (sob) do it (sob, sob) today, it's all (sob, sniffle) too much (sob) to face (sniffle, sob, sniffle) and I feel so (sob) miserable and (sniffle) lazy and fat."

Yeah. No one is going to listen to that. There are children starving in Africa for god's sake. World wars. Poverty. Terrorism, natural distasters, and economic downfall. The fact that I experience such catastrophic distress over weight gain seems utterly selfish, shallow, and ridiculous...even to me. Yet, at times, I cannot shake it. It's the eating disorder talking, and it's much more powerful than I give it (sorry, HE...forgot that LA labeled my ED as male) credit for.

For these reasons, the second puberty go-round is, seemingly, more painful than the first. Back then, at least I could comiserate with an endless sea of hormonal, rapidly developing peers.

*Sigh*...oh well. This is all part of the process. I keep reminding myself of that, and trying as best I can to ride the wave of post-eating disorder weight gain. Thankfully, I sometimes experience moments of clarity during which I can see myself on the other side of this: strong, muscular, lean, solid. My body was there once, before I decided to (foolishly) take matters into my own hands. Fifteen years ago, the first round of body changes didn't end up so badly. I'm trying to have faith that the second go-round will leave me pleasantly surprised by the results as well.

Holiday Bug Has Bitten

2010-11-21T18:11:00.000-08:00

Even though retailers have been pimping the holidays since, oh, June, I finally caught the bug this weekend. It usually hits me around this time each year; there is something about Thanksgiving week that really brings home the fact that the holidays are around the corner.

Given the countless dysfunctional holidays of my youth, many may assume that the first sign of seasonal cheer would send me running for the hills. Quite the opposite, in fact, as I have somehow managed to maintain a positive outlook on the holidays and typically utilize the last six weeks of the year to celebrate those who have played a significant role in my life. Admittedly, as the years go on and I distance myself from the dysfunction, this list has become increasingly dominated by those with whom I do not share DNA.

I have my wonderfully grounded maternal grandmother to thank for the preservation of my holiday spirit despite a frequently tumultuous childhood. This year marks ten years since she passed, but my aunt (we're close in age and were raised almost like siblings) and I remain committed to celebrating the holidays the way she would have wanted us to: with generosity, appreciation, and stylish flair. She made certain every platter and dish on the table matched, and her carefully crafted tablescapes often resembled Better Homes and Gardens centerfolds (I actually do this every night that I cook- ask The Mr. and my friends). Each gift was personal in some way, and exactly what the person had been hoping for (wrapped in matching wrapper with spectacular bows, of course). Hours upon hours would be spent at the mall and specialty stores until she had carefully selected something special for each and every person who had touched her life in some way that year. I accompanied her on almost every one of those shopping trips throughout the years, until she passed away when I was eighteen.

She was my foundation growing up, the one who taught me the right way to live, to love, and to show appreciation. I know I picked up some of her perfectionist qualities, given the extensive amount of time I spent with her as a child. While I am trying to shed some of my own perfectionist tendendencies (namely, those that have been self-destructive), the ones I inherited from her are ones I hope I never lose.

I was reminded of her this weekend as I dragged The Mr. out to Target (aka Holiday Hell for a guy) to see what kind of decor we could pick up in preparation for our Thanksgiving Evening Put-Up-the-Tree Extravaganza (which always includes wine, cursing, and the dog eventually breaking something). We grabbed our customary shopping-at-Target Starbuck's coffees, and hit the holiday rows hard. While The Mr., ever the outgoing one, bonded with the other disinterested and unengaged husbands, I picked up trendy holiday hand towels, some artsy-looking ornaments, and perused the wreath selection. Standing in the Target retail wonderland with my coffee in hand, I secretly vowed, as I do every year, to always strive to make the holidays happy, comfortable, and magical for my own "family", just as my grandmother did for me.

This has been a tough year for me, and many months have flown by without my noticing thanks to my "brain-starved" state (as LA calls it). It was around this time last year that I really began to sink into the eating disorder and lost my sense of self, as well as control of my body. This holiday season will be a little different for me, as I have lost that ability to really enjoy in many of the treats that define this time of year. I now have to be conciously aware of my choices, feelings, and urges in an effort to prevent a relapse back to starving and purging in the days, weeks, and months after the celebratory season is over. While the eating disorder has become a driving force in my life over the last year, experiencing the holiday season with the eating disorder mind feels extremely unfamiliar.

I've learned to adapt to Christmases without my grandmother over the last ten years, but it is (and never will be) exactly as it was when she was still around. I wonder the same about experiencing the holidays with an eating disorder...will they ever really be the same now that my mind has zeroed in on food as a control mechanism? Will there be a day when I can eat a second slice of pie (ok, maybe even just one piece of pie...we'll start there) without the urge to throw it up or burn it off immediately? Will I eventually be able to enjoy mashed potatoes again without the list of potential fat-laden ingredients playing on repeat in my brain? Could I ever become so relaxed that I consider Black Friday shopping a cardio exercise (and therefore an acceptable substitute for a trip to the gym) like the rest of the sale-seeking free world?

I don't know. While it scaresthe hell out of me to let go of the safety and control the eating disorder provides, I secretly hope the holidays in years to come are eating-disorder free.

In the meantime, while recovery is still as fresh and new as the holiday crap I just bought at Target, I'm going to focus my attention on doing up the holidays the way my grandmother would want me to: spoiling the hell out of those who have cared for and stood by me this year, creating a happy and cheerful home, and paying attention to the details that make every effort extra special.

She'd be appalled by the fact that that the ED version of her beloved granddaughter would even think twice before digging into a giant plate of her butter-drenched mashed potatoes. I'll work on making her proud again in that respect. She knows better than anyone that I can overcome the tough stuff in life; after all, she made sure to teach me how as I was growing up.

For now, however, I think color-coordinating the gift wrap with the tree ornaments and busting out the matching dessert plates will do, don't you?

Quick Post- Just Checking In

2010-11-19T20:53:00.000-08:00

It's Friday...the end of another week. I'm looking forward to a relaxing weekend with only a few plans (although the way I live my life, a "relaxing" weekend is probably still considered pretty packed compared to most). Today's work day was a series of presentations, obligations, and meetings that filled my Outlook calendar, and before I knew it, 5:00 had arrived.

In between meetings and such, I also observed my boss doing yoga in the hallway, dancing to the music in her head outside my door, and reminding some of us that "National Have Sex With a Man With a Mustache Week" is coming to a close. Only in higher education is it permissable that professionals with Master's degrees be so in touch with their inner nineteen-year olds. But I love every second of it, and my crazy, flower-child of a boss keeps me laughing amidst the chaos of my life and work. I mean, The Mr. doesn't have a mustache, but I would hate to miss out on such an important national holiday. Thank god for my boss for keeping me in the loop.

Our evening at home has been about as uneventful as a staring contest, but I really wouldn't have had it any other way today. The Mr. and I have barely seen each other this week, and I've been somewhat sleep deprived thanks to another bout of excrutiating pain a few nights ago. It was severe enough that (gasp!) I have gone three consecutive days without exercise and/or training...WHAT?! Yep, that's right...my running shoes have not met the pavement in three days, my sports bras remain clean and folded neatly in my drawer, and my iPod fully charged.

Needless to say, it's killing me. Although (surprisingly) not as much as I thought. So maybe I can be okay not working out every single day...well, in extreme cases of sickness or pain, anyhow. I don't necessarily feel as though I've blown up like a whale or moved up three sizes (I breathed a sigh of relief when I zipped into the same size jeans while shopping after work today). I even prepared and ate a very nice, normal dinner this evening, complete with wine (duh) and dessert. I snapped a picture for LA and sent it her way. She'll be so proud.

I have, however, reached my no-exercise threshold, and tomorrow morning I'll be back to the gym. I missed it. I'm sure the regulars in my cycling class missed me too. A good friend of mine subbed my class last evening, and she has a reputation for being a much more intense instructor than I am...they either loved her or hated her, or maybe a little of both (thanks, R!).

Today was, thankfully, so busy that I barely had time to obsess over food, calories, and other eating-disorder preoccupations. It was a nice change, considering the earlier part of the week was not exactly perfect. But that's okay. It's in the past. Time to move on.

Doctors are still trying to get to the bottom of my pain/unitentional vomiting episodes, and I have yet another test on Tuesday morning. I'll admit, I'm starting to get frustrated with the fact that these tests seem to show absolutely nothing. It's almost making me feel as though I am somehow imagining this pain...although I'm certain I am not. I am about the furthest thing from a hypchondriac.

I will be honest in admitting that while I am tempted to push the doctors to continue to look for answers and solutions for these episodes, I experience a great deal of guilt related to doing so. I know, in my right mind, that the pain is largely a result of my own behaviors and the cycle I've fallen into of restricting/purging. My body is screaming at me to stop, to rest, to heal, and for the most part, I have. But the lingering notion that I am somehow to blame for these medical issues is a hard pill to swallow, and makes it more difficult to tell a doctor "hey, look, I'm in pain here...fix this NOW!"

I go back and forth quite a bit between "it is what it is, now let's just fix it" and "quit your bitching, you did this to yourself and have no right to complain". I suppose the latter is the smarter, more logical voice to follow, but alas, if I always listened to the smarter voice, I'd be "healed" by now. I'm still working on that.

The key to warding off the pain, it seems, is to not restrict and/or purge. So that is the goal for the next week. I had three consecutive, healthy weeks and would really like to beat that record this time around. Tuesday brings another test, and I'm ready to get to the bottom of the pain episodes and for this nightmare to be over.

Anyhow, I'm going for a shorter, more general post than usual tonight, as I want to go hang out with The Mr. and hit the sack early so I'm refreshed and ready to go teach at the gym tomorrow (yay!). I had planned to write about family dynamics (a big topic this week in my life), but I'll save that for the next post. Stay tuned.

I'll be back in touch tomorrow...enjoy the rest of your Friday night, everyone.

Crack open a bottle of wine and cheers to the weekend!

2010-11-19T20:23:00.001-08:00

The rat race is over...it's Frid

Not Perfect...But Honest

2010-11-17T21:12:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting at my kitchen table painting my nails an obnoxious and totally unprofessional color called "Juniper Jade". It is taking me back to my high school years, during which I arrived at my Catholic school each and every morning with "illegal" dark colored nails (which complimented the beaded necklaces and heavy Doc Martens on which I relied to accessorize my plaid uniform kilt).

I rarely paint my nails given the fact that I spend so much time outside of work at the gym, but am in need of a distraction at the moment and giving myself a jade-green manicure is doing the trick.

I haven't posted in a few days because, quite honestly, I wasn't sure what to say. My emotions are running high, I'm spending a lot of time and energy fighting off urges and internal battles, and I have been getting pummeled by some of the biggest stressors in my life at all at once. I'm a little tired from it all, and while I typically rely on this blog to pour out my honest experiences and insight, I am trying to overcome a new hesitancy to do so. Let me explain:

When I first started writing about my experience, I wondered if a time would come during which a commitment to honesty would be become a burden. I have posted regularly for several months now, and have never really struggled with the decision to put myself and my story out there.

Until now.

I posted several days ago about an experience that led to purging, which frustrated some. Yes. I struggled. I still am. Yes, those moments will happen.

This journey is not easy. It's not a short one, either. And, unfortunately, at times, it is a very lonely and isolated trip. I recognize the fact that it is frustrating to watch someone move forward and then take a few steps back. I get that. I also realize that those who know me best are not accustomed to watching me fail (example: purging this weekend), and that I have established a pattern in my life of setting goals and conquering them with lightning speed.

This is different.

It may sound like I'm making excuses. I am not, I assure you. If anything, I am my harshest critic in light of setbacks and failures (how do you think I got here?).

Obviously, some of the things I blog about appear to be setbacks to any right-minded person. If I read a post detailing a not-so-positive experience that did not end well, I would get angry too (actually, I do get angry...as I said, the majority of the disappointment is self-inflicted). But when I began this blog, I was committed to staying real, honest, and open about what it is truly like to battle the emotions, urges, and patterns associated with anorexia, exercise bulimia, and other eating disorders. In the "real" battle against this disorder, recovery is not a straight line. There is no "quick fix", "cold-turkey", or "patch" to help me turn off the critical inner voice. There is no magic mirror that will help me to see my body for what it really is, or a pill to take to keep me from returning to past patterns in times of stress, pain, or emotional overload.

I know people are frustrated with me. I know people are angry at me for not fixing this yet. For every person who actually verbalizes their anger and frustration (yes, there have been some), there are probably another two or so who secretly want to shake me. I try to take this as a compliment...that people care enough to get anxious about my return to health. As LA once told me: "Even anger means the person still cares enough to express passion; it's indifference that indicates the person is not longer invested."

I was once scolded by Dr. Joe for stating that I thought I could beat this in a matter of weeks, so I understand why some maintain a naive sense of urgency about my recovery. I still, to a certain extent, hold onto that urgency as well (I have to, it's what drives me forward). However, I had to learn the complexities of this disorder the hard way, and have come to realize that with every layer that is pulled back, another (and often more complicated one) exists underneath.

What you read on here may not always be pretty. Recovery is not perfect. I am not perfect.

But I am a hard worker. I set goals. I achieve them regardless of setbacks (and there have been many in my life...more than most even know). Hopefully, those who follow this story have enough faith in me to see those qualities and know that, despite taking steps backward, I'll always keep working.

I'll continue to tell the honest story as best I can...both successes and failures. You can get mad. You can get frustrated. All I ask is that you also applaud the successes, help me if/when I come to you, and be there to make me laugh....

...even if you don't know what to say anymore. (And for god's sake, don't say that out loud...it reads "I've totally given up on you"...warped, I know...but find other phrasing if necessary)
...even if you want to strangle me for having a setback. (Save it. I've probably already beaten myself up more)

...even if you don't understand and never will. (That's ok. I still don't understand most of it)

...even if you wanted this to end, like, yesterday. (I probably want that more than you do)

Some of you know me well enough to know I will always return the favor.

It has taken me a long time to trust that others will stand by me and that I am not entirely alone in this world.
It has taken me even longer to open up in this way. I want to be able to continue to do so in a honest way without feeling that I have let others down with my setbacks.

I've learned to trust you. Please trust me that I am trying very, very hard to repair this as quickly as possible.

Proposing a New Treatment Strategy

2010-11-15T17:56:00.000-08:00

Today, I had a brilliant idea while sitting in LA's office.

Those working with treatment teams to overcome eating issues should be provided with a clothing allowance.

Think about it. Sure, I'm thrown into emotional distress when I gain a couple pounds. Yeah, it makes me want to stop eating for about a month (I'm being sarcastic...clearly that would not go unnoticed by the professionals), and a fear of fat is obviously at the root of many of my issues. But further on down the list, the stress of purchasing new clothes yet again is another negative side effect of getting healthy.

Don't get me wrong...I want to be healthy. I do. That is the top priority, and if it were not, I would not spend large chunks of my week with a dietitian, psychologist, and physicians (I mean, they are great and all, but...). I will get healthy, I will listen and do what I should do to regain some of the healthy weight I lost. I will kick and scream and drag my heels a little at times, but deep down I know I cannot fight it and need to just accept it.

I will not let the fact that I will need to buy new clothes stand in the way of my health. It's minor, and I hope you sense my sarcasm and humor in writing this. But, seriously, refeeding would be a lot more pleasant if I had a fashion-related goal to motivate me. People trying to lose weight are motivated by all the cute clothes they can wear if/when they achieve their goal weight. Hell, the contestants on the Biggest Loser even get full-on makeovers after they transform themselves (lucky bastards...although I guess they deserve it). And what do us recovering eating disorder patients get? To watch our waistlines expand, to agonize over favorite clothing that refuses to stretch over our "healthy" new bodies, to "hold off" on buying clothing because we never really know what the hell we are going to look like when it's all said and done.

If LA, Dr. Joe, and Dr. K all contributed to a refeeding fashion fund for me, it would prod me along a little in the process. Perhaps I wouldn't kick and scream about going up a size if I knew I could tap into the little trust fund they lovingly set up on my behalf rather than forking over my own cash for new clothes.

I'm just saying.

I actually proposed this new idea to LA this morning, who didn't exactly say no, but deferred the question to Dr. Joe. Given that Dr. Joe's salary is probably higher than LA's, I should have probably started there first anyhow. Silly me.

Dr. Joe said the clothing allowance was a fine idea, that he didn't really care either way. Except that the reason he didn't really care was that he would not be footing the bill for any of it. I think he missed the point.

Back to LA. I texted her after the Dr. Joe appointment. She said sure, that she would just include me in her kids' clothing budget. Sweet. She agreed to it, and I have the text to prove it.

(Ok, I realize she was probably kidding, but we all know emotion cannot be expressed in text, so I'm taking the answer for what it is: an affirmative "Absolutely, M. You're my favorite client and I'd love to set aside some money for you to enjoy the experience of purchasing new clothes...").

While out shopping this evening, I came across a fabulous pewter-colored handbag. As is a long-standing tradition when I find something amazing at a store, I snapped a picture and sent it to Mama K for her to provide her opinion. She said it was a must-have, that I needed it, and to just go ahead and bill LA.

I told her I didn't think accessories would count as acceptable use of the refeeding fashion fund, but perhaps I can spin it somehow.

In other news, I had a nuclear test on my gallbladder this morning at the local hospital. The test itself was rather painless (well, except for the IV...I have never gotten used to them and they still make me queasy), but did last over two hours. Mostly I slept while the technician tried to get my gallbladder to act up and replicate the pain I've been experiencing during those recent I-am-certain-I-am-dying attacks. She succeeded; I felt some pain. I'll hopefully have the results from GI Guy in a few days and we'll proceed from there.

I saw Dr. Joe after LA today, and we had a little chat about all kinds of things: the fact that I purged three times this week (that was not fun to talk about, I kind of stared at the floor while he freaked out a little), my marathon training (even he thinks I'm insane to train for one throughout the midwestern winter...I'll probably agree with him in, oh, about a month or so), my body dysmorphia, and what I've been eating as of late (I absolutely hate verbalizing my daily food intake for some reason, and I wish he'd just read it off a notebook like LA does). I was (jokingly) scolded for rolling my eyes several times during the appointment. I assured Dr. Joe the eye-roll is reserved only for those with whom I feel comfortable enough to be myself. He should take it as a compliment, really.

I will probably need to dedicate an upcoming post to the positives about Dr. Joe. I actually do adore the man, despite the fact that I am constantly harassing him (unbeknownst to him) via this blog. It's just the kind of client-therapist relationship we have: filled with lots of banter that would probably be considered disrespectful except that we both can take it as well as we can dish it out.

All in all, today was a needed opportunity to slow down a bit and reconnect with the people who have been helping me all along. It's time to get back on track and keep moving in the right direction.

After all, new clothing awaits... :)

Mind Games

2010-11-14T16:17:00.000-08:00

I have to accept that, thanks to my eating disorder, the world appears slightly warped. The problem is that it is often difficult to discern which parts are warped and which are, in fact, reality.

In our everyday interactions with each other, food-related topics are commonplace. Health and nutrition "advice" is everywhere, comments about weight and food are casually flung into conversation, and we all rely on social cues to help us determine what's "normal" and what is not. To a "normal" person, this information is naturally edited- some of it stays, some of it goes, it does not necessarily dictate the course of the day or provoke a significant change in behavior. To someone fighting off an eating disorder, these pieces and parts of daily life create a dangerous minefield of self-doubt, internal questioning, and often negative response.

Before I start to pour this out onto a post, please understand that I do not believe the world needs to change for me just because I struggle with an eating disorder. The fact that it is a "disorder" implies that I am not like the rest of you, and it is my job to process the world in a way that is not warped and triggering. I need to learn to cope within a world that includes comments, conversations, and advice about nutrition, food, and weight; those things will always exist.

What prompted me to write about this was a comment that I received yesterday while at a family party. Keep in mind that there is not a single member of either of our families who is aware that I struggle with an eating disorder, so this provides the perfect example of the perfectly innocent, everyday commentary that has the ability to rock an ED patient to the core.

The Mr. and I attended his mother's 60th birthday party yesterday knowing that we would be going out to dinner to celebrate our belated anniversary later on in the evening. I had already planned to eat a small amount of food at the party so I wouldn't experience guilt about eating a nice dinner later on (that didn't exactly work out the way I had planned).

At the party, I ate a six-inch turkey sub on wheat bread from the sandwich platter. I had a few handfuls of raw vegetables, some fresh fruit, and a very small portion of the whole-grain Greek pasta salad I had brought to the party. At this point, that is about all I can handle, and I felt okay about the quantity and choices I had made. I opted to not eat cake despite the ever-present "Why isn't M. eating cake?!?!" chatter among the group, stayed away from the desserts I knew would bring on the urge to restrict later or purge.

Several hours later when we went to leave, a family member said to me "You're going to still go out to a nice dinner after that big lunch we just had?! How are you going to have room for that?"

Cue eating-disorder panic. Oh my god. She is right. That is totally not normal. I am a fat, gluttonous pig to come to a party, eat what I did, and then still go out to an anniversary dinner with my husband.

That comment, while completely innocent, stuck with me like glue for the rest of the day. By the time we sat down to dinner at a nice restaurant, I was already in a major eating disorder state of mind. I ate my dinner, determined to enjoy it and not let the eating disorder get in the way of a nice night out. But by the time we arrived at another bar for drinks and dessert, I purged in the bathroom without even thinking twice about it. I didn't even process through it enough to text LA beforehand. It was almost automatic, the voice in my head telling me I had overeaten, that it was not normal to eat at a birthday party and then a dinner out, that I had done something very, very wrong.

Since we had chosen to go to the second bar for drinks and dessert, I went ahead and ordered a small slice of maple walnut cheesecake and ate it slowly, trying to ignore the guilt and just enjoy it. I wanted to just start over and forget about dinner. But while eating dessert, I thought to myself: As if it weren't already bad enough that you ate a GIANT lunch at the party, INDULGED in a HUGE dinner...now you have to go and toss dessert in there too, you fat slob. And think of the wine and all the hidden calories in there too. You are out of control. You are disgusting, have no discipline whatsoever, and do not get to just eat whatever you want, whenever you want.

Without a second thought, I made another trip to the bathroom. I felt horrible about it. I should be able to just enjoy a nice anniversary dinner with my husband. And more importantly, I should have texted LA before purging a second time.

These moments happen every day when you are struggling with this disorder: a comment. A look. Someone else obsessing over their own weight or diet. No one is to blame for these triggers. It's our problem. It's our job to figure out how to rewire our brains.

I can remember a similar situation during which I sensed I had overeaten at a lunch date with friends. I had scanned the plates of the others at table (which I regularly do) and noticed that no one else at the table had eaten everything on their plate (mine was just salad with grilled chicken, but I still ate all of it). I immediately felt as though I had done something wrong. How many times have we all heard that we should never eat an entire entree at a restaurant? I began beating myself up for being so ravenous, uncontrolled, and undisciplined. I can't remember for sure, but I must have purged or restricted after that meal because I recall the following conversation taking place in LA's office shortly after that lunch:

Me: "I should not have eaten that entire salad. No one else ate their entire lunch."

LA: "Why do you feel badly about it? There was nothing bad in that."

Me: "Because I should have only eaten half of it. That's what you're supposed to do at restaurants."

LA: (long pause, shocked look on her face) "Wait...why on earth would you think that applies to you?! You are not overweight and you ran ten miles that morning. There is no such thing as portion control in your life!"

And that, my friends, was the day I realized the world I live in (as someone with an eating disorder) was warped. All of the "advice" I had ever absorbed about food had become so jumbled in my head that I was unable to apply it correctly to my own life. That was the day LA told me I needed to throw out everything I had ever heard about nutrition and begin to follow her lead.

In hindsight, I should have applied the knowledge I've gained throughout this process to yesterday's "You're still going to eat dinner?!" comment. Had I done so, I would have realized that:

The person who made the comment probably did not even see what I had eaten and therefore had no idea that I didn't eat as big of a lunch as everyone else.
The person who made the comment eats like a bird, so even if she had seen what I ate, it probably would have seemed like a lot from her perspective.
The person who made the comment had no way of knowing that I had run a pretty fast ten miles just hours before, and what I did eat was nowhere close to even making up for the energy lost on that run.
Like LA tells me all the time...I am not a normal person. I am an athlete. So I need to eat a lot more than the average person and IT'S OK.

But, naturally, I listened to the loud, obnoxious eating disorder and followed it right down the path to self-destruction.

That seems to be the case in general this week: the eating disorder has been loud and obnoxious, and the LA/Dr. Joe/Dr. K rational messages are getting lost somehow.

While I have struggled a great deal over the last several days, I do not consider this past week to have been a relapse. In my mind (and I think in the minds of my team, although we've never really talked about it), a relapse would be a full-blown return to not eating and/or throwing up whatever small amounts of food I do decide to give in and eat. If I returned to something resembling that pattern, then I would consider to be relapsed (and probably sent into inpatient treatment somewhere...no one is going to put up with that for very long now that I'm working with people to correct this).

I did, however, purge three times this week, which is a little alarming, especially in light of the fact that some of the medical issues from previous restrict/purge cycles still linger. I seem to have lost the sense of control I gained while on leave and working with my team regularly. I'm trying to find it again.

When talking to Dr. Joe, LA, and Dr. K, it all seems so clear...so empowering. I often leave their offices feeling strong, rational, and equipped with the strategies necessary to ward off the eating disorder when it creeps up. But somehow, in the moment (or prompted by a simple trigger or comment), their wise voices still get pushed back more often than I would like.

At least the mistakes are fewer and further between than they once were. Eventually, they will go away completely, and I'll be able to exist in this food/weight/body-obsessed world without latching on to the innocent comments and conversations that lead me down paths to dangerous territories.

Prior to the incidents this week, I had gone over three weeks without skipping a meal or purging. When studying to become a personal trainer, I learned that it takes twenty one days before a new behavior becomes habit. The healthy new habits didn't permanently stick this time, but the fact that I experienced over twenty one successful days helps to keep me believing in progress.

2010-11-14T05:31:00.001-08:00

The last few days have been rough. This is the epitome of the "gray area"...where I now know better and have been equipped with all the tools necessary to fight off the eating disorder, yet all the old patterns still exist and feel rather comfortable in times of stress.

Old habits die hard.

When studying to become a personal trainer, I remember learning about the 21-day theory, which basically assumes that an individual must maintain a behavior pattern for twenty one days before it then becomes a new habit. I recently met that mark in treatment. For over twenty-one days, I did not skip a meal or purge. This was a big accomplishment...until the bottom fell out this week.

I wouldn't consider this a relapse per se, as I have been able to get back on track after some incidents this week. To me, a relapse is a full-blown return to the old pattern of not eating, giving in from time to time and eating something ridiculously small (like a few pretzels), only to throw them up minutes later thanks to self-inflicted punishment for "giving in". That is not currently happening. Mama K is all about "perspective", so I guess when you apply her "perspective", I have come a long way despite this week's challenges (which feel like major failures to me).

I hate to focus on the negatives in my blog, but, unfortunately, the negative incidents are often the ones I am forced to analyze as I try to turn this thing around. The best I can do is try to reflect on them, talk about them with the team, and try to implement damage control when necessary.

I'm starting to realize that I do return to the old pattern when I sense a loss of control over a situation involving food/body/weight/exercise. It's almost as though I throw on a pair of earmuffs, ignore everything that is going on around me, and spend some quality one-on-one time with the old eating disorder friend in my mind. In moments of confusion and anxiety, it's the only voice I listen to, and he (earlier this week, LA decided the eating disorder is a man) often talks a lot louder than LA, Dr. Joe, and everyone else who likes to fill my brain with positivity, healthy coping skills, and snappy little "anti-eating-disorder" quotes.

So here's the bottom line. I'll just throw it out there: I purged three times this week (actually somewhat of a miracle given how many times I had to battle to not restrict and/or purge). I feel terrible about it. I haven't even told LA about two of the incidents yet (they were last night, so I haven't had the chance to). I've beaten myself up over it, mostly because I wonder why on earth people would still want to help someone- invest a lot of time and energy in someone- who can't seem to get it together. There it is again, that critic: "People have invested in you. You need to work like hell to make sure they don't regret it."

(I've said that to myself so many times in my life. I honestly, even after all this time, have no idea where it comes from. If you want to get all 'psycho-therapy with it, it's very cleary an "I don't deserve anything to just be handed to me" statement...again, I do not know where that comes from either. Feel free to analyze as you wish.)

I, of course, want to beat this thing in record time. I want to have as few setbacks as possible. I want the "perfect" recovery. Like I said...old habits (now referring to the perfectionist attitude I've used to propel me forward for twenty-plus years) die hard.

A Little Late to the Party

2010-11-10T06:58:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, two incidents sent me into a bit of an eating disordered frenzy. I woke up this morning ready to let them go and face a new day, but they are most certainly carrying over into today despite my best efforts to just let them go...

While these two incidents may seem like nothing to an outsider (normal people), both are Big Deals (note the capitalization) when you're trying to train your brain to shut the hell up about all things food/eating/body related. Unfortunately for me, two Big Deals hit in one day...the first was totally out of my control. The second, well, was sort of my fault.

Incident #1: The Realization Your "Sick Size" No Longer Fits

Yesterday morning, I went for my favorite pair of work pants (Express Editor pants...have been wearing them for years, I have gone through literally hundreds of them in the last decade), only to realize the smallest size was a bit...snug. They still "fit". They were just no longer "roomy".

I have mentioned in other posts that while I have absolutely no idea what my "real" body looks like, I have been forced to believe that I must be rather skinny (so they tell me). I am socially aware enough to recognize that a skinny girl bitching about her size is a little off-putting to most people. Therefore, the trauma this incident invoked was only shared with a few trusted individuals. In a moment of panic, I texted Mama K, LA, and a few close friends who would "get" the profound seriousness of the eating disorder crisis at hand (which to most people does not qualify as anywhere near a crisis).

Here are some of the responses I received:

"You're really upset about this?! You got to that size by PUKING. Look how f-ed up your body has become because of it!! Now you're just makin' me mad...Ok, ok, CALM DOWN. My true mother bitchiness is coming out." (Yep...guess who fired off that response!)
"That is ok. You are getting your health back and that trumps everything." (Ok, a little more supportive and mothering on that one).
"Strong is the new skinny!" (These responses are so indicative of the senders' personalities...wow).
"WTF? That doesn't even make sense..." (It makes perfect sense...these crazy people are trying to make me fat!)

Incident #2: Finding Out You Weigh Way More Than You Think

After inwardly cursing LA for making me eat and shoving the latest version of my ever-changing body into those damn work pants, I found myself driving to GI Guy's office. You may be thinking "Oh! GI Guy! We haven't heard his name in a little while...thought that was all taken care of!". And you would be wrong. More consults, more tests, gallbladder removal surgery still looming on the horizon. Thanks to my host of eating disorder-related gastrointestinal issues, GI Guy is still in the picture.

At Dr. K's office (which I frequent regularly since she is part of my original ED Recovery Posse), the medical assistants know to weigh me blindly. Therefore, I have been blissfully unaware of my weight for over two months now. It truly has not bothered me to not know the number, as I tend to use the way I "feel" to gage whether or not I'm "packing on the pounds" (which I have been assured is not happening).

In a split second yesterday, I decided I could handle the truth. I suddenly desperately wanted to know the number, and convinced myself I would be okay with whatever it was. With false bravado, I stepped onto the scale and watched the number appear. For a moment I was calm and at peace. I thanked the medical assistant, who left me in the room to wait for GI Guy.

Then, of course, I started to obsess. The number was seven pounds higher than what I had convinced myself I weighed, and two pounds over the recommendation Dr. K had provided in the very beginning. It was about seventeen pounds over my weight upon discharge from the hospital during the summer.

When I told several people (only within a very, very close circle) the number, they all reacted in the exact same way: big, giant smiles spread across their faces. They could not contain the the sheer joy produced by me packing on the pounds. I know I should interpret this as a sign of love and caring. But their pride does not replace the fact that I still wanted to strangle them all for being so giddy about something that feels like the end of the world to me. Ah, how I love these classic eating disorder recovery moments.

I tried to remain calm in light of these realizations and just do what I am supposed to do: eat according to the plan, do my work at the office, teach my normal class at the gym, do my typical Tuesday workout and nothing more. I tried to implement Dr. Joe's "relax!" mentality, shut my office door a few times, and regroup. I did everything I could to push the eating disorder voice out of my head. But the truth is, the realization that I am gaining weight (no matter how healthy it is) and going up a size still haunted me all day. The result was a psychological tennis match in my head, during which all of the messages from my treatment team got jumbled and mashed together with the overpowering eating disorder thoughts. The result was a little something like this:

"You're getting fat, just like they want you to. It's distorted, you're not really fat. The scale doesn't lie, you weigh a ton. Just stay at the gym longer to run after your cycling class. Tell the ED voice to shut up. Find a coping skill. Distract. Distract? We could distract by working out more...let's go run! You are getting healthy. Size doesn't matter. You are hungry. Just eat. Eat and then purge. LA will never know if you skip dinner or purge. But you can't lie to her. These people are there to help you. You can't let them down. Pretty soon you will realize you have gained 50 pounds. You need to reign in this weight gain before it gets out of control. You are letting the weight gain get ahead of you. You promised yourself you would put weight on if it went on the "right" way. Time to lift more and tone up. It's going on as flab. You look lazy. Your self-worth is more than a number. No one will want you to train them if you are fat. Your stomach is already messed up. Just lose two of the pounds. Purge what you ate today and then restrict for a few days. No one will notice...."

By 9:00, I was completely exhausted from it all, and sent a pretty desperate text to LA alerting her to the fact that I would either 1. not be eating dinner, or 2. be throwing dinner up.

I ended up eating a light dinner. It took about 30 minutes, and I didn't taste a thing. Then, I went to bed.

That brings me to this morning. I did not want to get out of bed.

"Everyone can tell you are getting fat."
"Your clothes look like crap on you."
"You've lost control."
"Too many indulgences. Time to get back on track."
"How can you possibly go into work looking like this?!"

AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! Make it stop!

I had a whiney, childlike moment this morning during which I told The Mr. I hate that people are getting such satisfaction from my weight gain (even though my wise mind tells me I should be thrilled about this too...I'm getting healthy! Yay!). He said he highly doubts that LA, Dr. Joe, and Dr. K are all high-fiving and popping champagne behind closed doors, relishing in the fact that another anorexic has blown up like a balloon.

He's right. Perhaps they are, actually, sipping champagne together somewhere. But it's not because I've put on a few pounds; it's because I'm becoming healthy again. It's a success. Deep down I know that it is.

But I still am angry about it.

Go ahead. Smirk. I know you all are just as excited as everyone else about the fact that I am no longer emaciated. I'll join the party too, as I know it's where I should be. Save a glass of champagne for me. I may just be a few minutes late to the celebration, but I'm coming. Just let me sulk for a bit and mourn the loss of my former body, the one I felt I worked very, very hard for (regardless of the methods).

All or Nothing, Black or White.

2010-11-08T19:41:00.000-08:00

I've never really thought of myself as an all-or-nothing/ black-or-white type of person. I can accept the shades of gray that exist in the world and in life; I'm able to see multiple perspectives on a given situation, I have learned the art of compromise (though The Mr. may disagree with that point).

Despite this, the following phrase has come out of LA's mouth three times in the last week: "There's that black and white thinking again!"

When an observation is presented to me once, I can generally ignore on the basis of "they don't really know me" (when, in fact, these crazy therapy people are coming to know me better than 90% of those in my life). But when it's been stated multiple times, I owe it to myself to take a closer look.

Prompted by LA's insight, I've come to realize that when it comes to my own life, the all-or-nothing/ black-or-white mentality is applied on an almost hourly basis. Recent examples of this include:

My approach to workouts: "I intended to teach two classes, swim, and lift this evening. I taught two classes, swam two miles, but neglected to lift...therefore the workout does not count and I need to restrict my dinner."

My immediate thought after eating what I consider to be a "treat" (and what normal people consider to be the equivalent of rabbit food): "I screwed up the day. I need to purge it all, not eat anything for the rest of the day, and start over tomorrow."

At home: "If I am going to cook dinner, it will either be 5-star restaurant quality or I'm not going to waste my time. And a sit-down dinner without wine simply cannot happen."

In my career: "I don't just work. I achieve. I produce. I must be hauling ass at all times or I am not worthy of the title and letters after my name."

In graduate school: "I either need to kill myself juggling an assistantship and a paid internship or no one will hire me and I will be living out of the backseat of my car."

With others: "Once I trust you, I will love you like crazy. You dare to hurt me, and it will never be the same."

Ok, so I guess I was somewhat aware of this pattern prior to LA mentioning it. I used to joke that it was the Irish streak in me ("I'm Irish! We do everything in excess! Drink, fight, love...you name it!"). Now, however, I am acutely aware of how it is playing into my eating disorder as well as the extreme self-imposed pressure I have existed beneath for years. I have not allowed myself the "in-between". When it comes to myself and the impossibly high standards to which I strive to adhere, many aspects of my life have become all-or-nothing, black-or-white.

I have always worked my ass of. Always. I landed my first job at fifteen (lifeguard at the pool where I trained), and worked two or more since around that time. I overdo everything in my life. I thrive on competition, hard work, and overachievement. People often ask me how I manage it all, and my canned response has always been "I just compartmentalize. When I'm at work, I'm focused on the students and work at hand. When I leave, my mind switches to the gym, what I am going to teach in my fitness classes, and my own training. When I'm at home, I take care of what needs to be done there." My life has become a series of drawers, boxes and baskets (had to throw that in there...my neighbor always comments on the number of baskets and bins in my house). I pull one out when I need to work on it, deal with it, or tap into it's contents. I slide it back in when I'm done. I move onto the next.

The result is the black/white mentality LA is seeing in me. All or nothing. Everything in it's own box, never to be pulled out, misplaced, or combined with another box's contents...no matter what. Every box is pulled out for a reason, and when that "reason" is not fulfilled, it feels awfully awkward to just slide it back in its spot and forget about it; like a task that has not been crossed off the to-do list.

I'm not okay leaving things unfinished, or feeling unfulfilled. While I can talk and listen for hours, I like answers, connections, the "ah-ha" moments. I get a thrill from jumping into action, tackling problems, and moving on. I don't like sitting with emotions for too long before I want to get up, develop a plan, and make them go away.

That has served me well. That has also destroyed me.

I know I need to soften my edges a bit, accept the gray areas, and cut myself a break. The real challenge is learning to doing so without sacrificing the focus that has allowed me to compartmentalize, multitask, achieve, and overcome. While the black and white ends of the spectrum naturally draw in my narrow focus (of course they do...they are quantifiable, measurable, tangible), there are plenty of shades of gray in between that I tend to ignore.

Mistakes, processes, and growth are most often found in the gray areas of life. All are tough to look at when you have lived your life with your eyes steadily focused on goals: the black/white, all/nothing.

Low-Key Weekend at Home

2010-11-07T18:31:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure why, but this weekend felt very...normal.

There has been that slight chill in the air as of late, coming and going just enough to remind all of us that another Midwest winter is lurking just around the corner. The painted leaves remind us that it is still autumn, but before we know it we will be white-knuckling our steering wheels and packing our "office" shoes to change into once we get to work.

I've always loved this time of year, as many do (well, minus the fact that winter is lurking around the corner), and would truly miss it if we moved to one of those "one-season" areas (think: Florida. Arizona. Hawaii...although beaches would be nice). Sure, there are numerous annoyances associated with the weather turning colder: running outside presents complex wardrobe issues ("It's snowing, but I know I will be sweating in a matter of minutes...are shorts still acceptable?"), I begin to run late to work thanks to the need to defrost the car, and the dog will need to be yanked outside against his will to go to the bathroom (even though I bought him a little down ski jacket a few years ago).

Despite these minor annoyances, I do love the following about this time of year:

The reappearance of the festive red Starbucks cups, subtly reminding us that we need to begin holiday shopping, like, tomorrow.
Football. I live for it. My brother and father trained me well, and at times, forgot that I was a girl.
The fact that only the hardiest of runners are out training on the paths...it's like an athletic secret society.
Shopping for others...I truly, truly love it (The Mr.: "I don't understand why gift cards won't suffice...")
Wearing my hooded sweatshirts, running jackets, gym clothes, and long sleeve race t-shirts is suddenly totally acceptable, as staying warm and being comfortable begins to take priority over looking nice.
We begin to hibernate and our life sloooooooooooooooooows down just enough.

This weekend was the first of many hibernation weekends. Of course, I am much too social to stay in the house for days. So, my form of hiberation may not be quite the same as others'; but with the colder temperatures hanging in the air, my life has become a little more restful and relaxing. And right now, it's exactly what the doctor ordered, as I had experienced Excrutiating Pain/Vomiting Espisode #6 on Thursday night (which was comparable to childbirth, I am certain).

On Friday, I ventured out with my long-lost work friends to dinner and to see the University's theater department's first play of the semester. We just recently hired a new theater director, and we were anxious to see what kind of new vibe he is bringing to our old-fashioned, traditional theater program. He did not disappoint...a hilarious, modern, sex-filled, R-rated theatrical production left us all wondering if our conservative, Harvard-educated Associate Dean will be asking him to pack his bags first thing Monday morning. We sure hope not...he fits in perfectly with the rest of our quirky campus community.

Dinner was, as always, a bit of an anxiety point. I, of course, looked over the online restaurant menu several times before we left the office, and ordered a glass of wine immediately to shut my brain up as it overprocessed and overthought every last ingredient and calorie. I was set on getting the "safe" grilled chicken salad, but remembered LA's comment this past week about pizza being the perfect food (grains, vegetables, dairy...) and decided to split a tomato-basil pizza and salad with my boss (who was thoroughly enjoying her sangrias that night...one of the many reasons I love her to death). The restaurant is also famous for serving "breadsticks the size of your head" (direct quote from another coworker), and I actually ate one of them (albeit slowly and kind of regretting it with every bite...but, hey, it was a challenge).

On Saturday, The Mr. took me to a Mediterranean lunch buffet, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I made dinner at home both last night and tonight, and we just had wine and watched TV with our crazy dog. I napped (a lot) and tried to relax after the stress of returning to work. I taught cycling class and ran, and just did whatever I wanted to. I even met one of my favorite athletes of all time today: Olympic speed skater Apolo Ohno. I stood in line for about an hour to have him sing my copy of his most recent book "Zero Regrets" , among crying teenagers and sexually frustrated suburban housewifes who probably fell head over heels in love with him while he twirled around the stage on Dancing With the Stars.

So where was the eating disorder voice this weekend? It was quieted a bit by the overall calm of the weekend. I tried to push the "you suck" out of my head while out on my long run this morning, and ignored the urge to restrict or purge after my dinner out on Friday night. I questioned whether or not I had eaten too much at the Mediterranean restaurant, but rationalized that the food was basically comprised of vegetables, olive oil, and pita, and that I had taught a rigorous 90-minute cycling class just hours before and was in need of the nourishment. I know I did not eat a big enough post-run breakfast this morning, and fully anticipate some questioning from LA about it tomorrow morning. Currently, I'm trying to tell myself I did not overeat at dinner this evening, and that the food I consumed (which was all very healthy and not at all anything concerning) is not going to increase my midsection overnight. Nothing is ever perfect, which bothers me at times. However, I'm beginning to realize that even a semi-normal weekend is a step in the right direction at this point.

Time to go pack the food I need to get me through tomorrow's meal plan (it's a little like packing for a expedition, really) and settle into bed with a book. It's only a three-day work week for me this week, as the University is closed on Thursday for Veterans' Day, and The Mr. and I took Friday off to celebrate our wedding anniversary. This week, while short, will bring some challenges. For starters, both LA and Dr. Joe will be out of town (this is the second time this has mysteriously happened...my boss, D., asked me the other day if I find it at all suspicious...?). While both are still readily accessible to me (only a text or email away), the fact that I slipped into relapse the last time they were gone is still fresh in my memory. However, I have grown a lot stronger since then, and fully intend to be just fine without them around.

I should also mention that today marks two weeks without purging or skipping a meal. It seems like a small achievement given the fact that I have been working on this eating disorder thing for almost four months, but I am constantly reminded by those around me that breaking this cycle takes a very, very long time.

I will be meeting with LA tomorrow morning, Dr. Joe tomorrow evening, and GI Guy on Tuesday morning. In between I'll be working at my job, teaching classes at the gym, and riding out the positive momentum of the weekend.

Now I'm Pissed

2010-11-04T19:15:00.000-07:00

I just got home from a typical Thursday: work at the university for my "real" job, then head straight to the gym to fit in my own workout before teaching the 7:00 cycling class, followed by the usual stream of post-class questions about heart rates, training, ailing body parts and so forth.

A late afternoon phone conversation with LA helped pull me out of a bit of an ED funk and got me through the last few hours of the work day. But by the time I arrived at the gym and stepped onto the treadmill (which I despise, but it is now practically pitch black by 5:00...hate winter), a serious case of Irish rage had set in. I was suddenly pissed at the eating disorder, the world, and most, if not all, of the people in it.

This sounds like a bad thing. I can assure you that when it comes to my life, it is most certainly not.

(Well, ok...anger got me into a lot of trouble as a pissed-off teenager, and often led to trips to the Dean's office, arguments with coaches, and even some physical altercations...but I've learned to turn it into something slightly more productive as an adult).

Anger is often what drives me. Anger has allowed me to cut ties with toxic people in my life, overcome major obstacles, and fight hard for what I want and believe in. Not many people will ever see it on the outside (as I am actually a nice person, believe it or not), but whenever I achieve, win, or defy odds, anger is usually the fuel propelling me forward.

With anger driving me, I cranked out some serious speed on my godforsaken treadmill tempo run today. I taught my cycling class while on an adrenaline high I thoroughly enjoyed and let my frustration drive my effort (all while maintaining a positive attitude and motivating those in my class...it's a gift, really). By the time I got home from the gym, I was fuming and ready to burst with anger, drive, and determination. So now I sit here at the kitchen table, shoving food in my mouth and trying not to think about it, letting it all out in this post.

The Official List of Why I Am Suddenly Pissed (Please note: remember...anger is FUEL, people. I need to get angry sometimes to beat this thing...don't be offended):

I realized while at the gym that I know I am strong enough, determined enough, and mentally tough enough to run a full marathon and a 50K,yet I let this stupid eating disorder stand in the way of it.

I want to slap the next person who says to me "You've lost weight!" or "You're so skinny now!" Sure, I may suffer from one hell of a case of body dysmorphia and still believe I am a lazy, sloppy overweight person, but these statements are getting old...quick.

I am angry at the people in my life who have neglected to rise to the challenge of loving me unconditionally, thus making it hard for me to trust those who want to help me now in adulthood (don't worry...if you are reading this blog, I am more than likely NOT referring to you...no sweat!).

I am angry I've let an eating disorder prevent me from enjoying life's treats...DQ Blizzards, cupcakes, queso dip, macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes come to mind immediately. *sigh*...one day.

I'm angry that my dog never lets me relax when I get home. Psycho. I just put him outside, actually.

I'm angry that I've allowed this disorder to take over my mind, and that it has probably wasted hours upon hours of my life that I can never get back. I could have found the solution for world peace by now if my head wasn't flooded with nutrition facts. Damn you, eating disorder. You are standing between me and a Nobel Peace Prize.

I'm angry at my coworkers who call off constantly and for every little mini-crisis, leaving me to feel extreme guilt for walking away for two and a half weeks to handle something very major. It pisses me off that my mind even went to "I don't want to be one of them" when I know in my heart that stepping away was absolutely necessary. I'm blessed to work in a supportive environment, but have also vowed to never take advantage of it the way others sometimes do.

I'm angry that I've allowed the eating disorder to, at times, take away the sheer joy of exercise (something I really, truly love and enjoy with or without the caloric burn...call me crazy, I know).

I'm kind of angry my favorite pairs of work pants will probably be too small soon, but I need to get over it. In the meantime, I just mutter "I hate this stupid meal plan" as I pull them over my newly formed "hips".

I'm angry at the people who still think I just "want to be skinny". Jump inside my head for a day and I promise you, you will realize very quickly an eating disorder is not about looking like a supermodel.

I'm angry that I just poured the last glass of chardonnay...where the hell did that bottle go so quickly?! I just opened it yesterday...

There you have it. I'm suddenly all fired up about my eating disorder. I want to kick its ass...like the time I slapped the bouncer at the bar in college...or told off my high school swim coach after he put me on (gasp!) the B-relay to teach me a lesson...or the time I ripped Bank of America a new one after they withdrew our mortgage payment twice in one week...

Ooops. Uh, yeah...about that rage...

Hey. I can't be Little Miss Perfect all the time. I'm pissed tonight. I want to kick ED's sorry ass and move on with my life. F%#k off, ED.

This Is Your Mind on ED

2010-11-03T20:57:00.000-07:00

I wish I could type up a glowing account of my first day back to work, but I unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it) have committed to telling the truth on my blog. To say I passed with flying colors would be a lie; but I can tell you that when faced with some struggles, I did everything I could to overcome them. Perhaps that indicates more success than I give myself credit for. I don't know.

The work day went by surprisingly well after I got over the initial shock of just plain being there. The morning started off in orderly fashion thanks to my abnormally high need for preparedness. I woke up a little earlier than usual, showered, ironed my clothes, ate my routine breakfast, did my makeup, dried and straightened my hair. I dropped a few "mother-f#%kers" when I realized I had to defrost my car (I had been sleeping past the point of frost for the last two weeks, therefore had forgotten how to deal with it), but eventually pulled out of the driveway and made my way to my long-lost office. I even had time to stop by Starbucks to pick up the green and white cup that has practically become a wardrobe accessory throughout the last two weeks.

At this point in the day, I faced only two minor challenges: 1. I realized I had not put on a pair of heels in over two weeks, and thought to myself "ok, time to condition the feet again...ow", and 2. I forgot all about the swipe card we all need to use to gain access to the faculty/staff parking lot and stared aimlessly at the gate for a moment before realizing it would not rise on its own.

Three of my coworker friends had purchased a Starbucks gift card to welcome me back, and the shiny gift card was the first thing I saw when I walked into my office. I felt instantly honored and glad to be around my work friends again, whose crazy antics and off-beat personalities I had truly missed. I took a deep breath and started to sift through the numerous emails, papers, files, and other foreign artifacts from my pre-leave life, hoping it would all start to come back to me.

By 10:00, I had sent the first panicked text to LA: "I'm totally overwhelmed and I want to go back to bed. Except that would be impossible because I've already had Starbucks. I want to run and hide." The reality of holy-shit-I'm-back-at-work-and-have-no-idea-where-to-start had sunk in. I realized I no longer had a clue who I was, where I left off, or how to integrate my newfound appreciation for basic nourishment into my hectic and chaotic "real" life.

Around 12:00 I realized I had never eaten my morning snack. I felt like a failure, even though it really is not that critical. But I, of course, wanted to be perfect on my first day back...to show myself I had overcome the worst of my issues and was ready to return to normalcy. I should know by now that perfection is not a healthy and productive goal. However, I suppose if that had completely sunk in I wouldn't be spending hours each week with a therapist, dietitian, and medical doctor, now would I?

So I ate my lunch. Got back on track. Attended a meeting during which the university President sent us mixed messages about "say yes to the students!" but "uphold the highest of standards!". We rolled our eyes and snickered inside. I returned to the office to finish up the day, feeling cautiously optimistic and slightly accomplished.

On the ride home, it fell apart. Big time.

A few days ago, I had presented LA with a scenario that perfectly illustrated my eating disorder (the actual story is not important so I won't bore you with the details). She helped me to see that my obsession with body/food/calories/weight is really a distraction from everything else that overwhelms me or is too painful to deal with. While I understood where she was coming from and did in fact see this pattern in myself, it didn't really hit me how accurate her interpretation was until this afternoon.

On the way home from work, my mind started to go into overdrive. I started processing through the day, and (of course) found flaws. My inner critic was having a field day with "you should have accomplished more than that today" and "you need to work harder if you want people to respect you again" (just imagine some others...come on, you are getting to know me well!). I also started thinking about the evening hours and began obsess over what to eat for dinner before my appointment with Dr. Joe, what to say to Dr. Joe, which workout I could fit in after my appointment with Dr. Joe, what to pack for lunch tomorrow, when I could fit in laundry (no clean gym clothes to teach cycling tomorrow!), how to prepare for tomorrow's 8:00 AM meeting...

I started to get overwhelmed by the details. The overactive mind that helps me to accomplish and achieve started to eat away at my confidence. Anyone who is really together would be able to do all of these things with ease...

Instinctively, I pushed all of the thoughts out of my head. The lengthy mental to-do list? Gone. The feeling of inadequacy? Banished. Enter obsessive thoughts about food...much easier to organize, count, and compartmentalize.

I met with Dr. Joe. I listened and absorbed his advice for the first part of our session, and then slowly shut down. I was only half-listening, nodding, and contributing. In between his words, my mind was filling with self-doubt and defeat...

"He is only a few sessions away from giving up on you because you make absolutely no progress whatsoever and are wasting his time."

"What is so wrong with you that you cannot get it together after four months of working with this guy?"

"I must check how many calories are in the organic vegetable soup I've been eating..."

"If I leave here and go to the pool, how many yards would I need to swim to burn off my lunch? If I didn't swim tonight, how much would I need to work out tomorrow to make up for it?"

"Did I go back to work too soon? No...I should be able to handle it. Anyone else would be able to handle it all just fine. Something is just wrong with me..."

I left Dr. Joe's in a state of exhaustion (not from him) and a slight depression, but I was unable to really put my finger on it. When I got home, I committed LA's Cardinal Sin #1...

I counted up the calories I had consumed throughout the day.

This is a big no-no. I am not allowed to do this under any circumstances. I should be just plain eating, following the meal plan, and not paying any attention to labels or the contents of my safe foods. Nonetheless, my mind was filling quickly with all kinds of emotions and I needed to push it out and focus on something simple: food. Weight. Calories. Simplistic. Measurable. Numeric.

When I added it all together on my Blackberry calculator I was appalled. Throughout the day, I had been eating healthfully, following my intuition and sticking with safe foods. I calculated again. That number just had to be wrong. There is no way I would eat that much. Suddenly I wanted to purge...badly. I wanted to get rid of it all and start over again tomorrow.

I started to pack for tomorrow and instinctively left out several of the usual things in an effort to shave off calories for tomorrow. I caught myself. I was restricting, moving away from the plan. That's where it all starts to go downhill. I took a deep breath and packed my usual food, trying to ignore the glaring number flashing in my head. Dammit, I thought, I should have listened and stayed blissfully ignorant of what I have been eating.

LA is going to kill me. Lesson learned. I do plan to try and forget about those numbers by morning so I can start over again tomorrow. I am confident I will be able to. My team has equipped me with more than enough support and knowledge, and while my mind did go a little "ED" today, I understand why. I became overwhelmed by work and the demands of my real life, and started listening to the ED voice instead of my own. In the moment of disorder and chaos, his voice was easier- simpler even- to listen to.

So this post doesn't paint the best picture of my return to work. But, the good news is that I 1. did not purge or do anything stupid, 2. caught myself before restricting or starving tomorrow in an effort to "make up for" today, 3. asked for help when I needed it, and 4. developed new insight that allows me to pinpoint the exact moments my mind will switch from (insert hectic/painful/chaotic situation here) to food/weight/calories, thus beginning the restrict/purge cycle I was once heavily caught within.

Okay, so Day One back at work had its ups and downs. I survived. I'm beginning to see my eating disorder play out in response to stress and loss of control. I may even be to a point where I can consider these experiences to be learning experiences...I do not automatically turn to restricting or purging the second my brain switches to the calorie/weight/food obsessions (as I once did). Now, I can at least process through them and recognize what is going on.

Of course, I still need people to walk me through these moments. Sucks to be LA, Dr. Joe, and Mama K right now, I suppose. Although they'll never truly know how much I appreciate them putting up with me.

In a text a few minutes ago, Mama K screamed (well, imagine a text scream): "Get in bed and do not get out. I want you to send me a picture of you proving to me you are in bed". So, I have to go to bed now. Or at least take a picture and act like I'm calling it a day.

Yes m'am. On that note, I'm heading to bed.

On the Return-to-Work Eve...

2010-11-02T20:17:00.000-07:00

Today was filled with so many emotions that I honestly was unsure what to even use as the basis for this post. While the day flew by, it was filled with many poignant moments, strong emotions, catch phrases, and reflective thoughts that it's hard to find just one to write about. I guess I'll just tell it like it is (that's a real weakness of mine, as you can see...note sarcasm).

Tomorrow, I return to work after two and half weeks off. No, it was not a vacation. No, I did not spend my time relaxing in the sun, shopping, or partying it up with friends. On the contrary, I stepped away from my job (something I have worked very hard for) to really tackle the eating disorder that has interrupted my life. The majority of my time, money, and energy was devoted to making headway with eating, healing, and repairing my broken self. It was a serious "timeout" moment; prompted by the realization that I had to put my health at the top of the priority list or else I was going to repeat the same cycle of progress and relapse time and time again.

Some may think my anxiety about returning to work is related to the numerous projects, emails, and general work-related duties that may have piled up while I was out. This is not entirely the case. I cleaned up my work life very well before I left, and while I'm apprehensive about playing catch-up, being behind is not what drives me to sudden tears or makes me want to run and hide. It's being without the daily support of LA (or almost daily when it comes to Dr. Joe), and the overall relaxed pace of my "treatment" life that makes me nervous. It's a big transition; I'd be lying if I said it didn't worry me quite a bit.

Although it has only been two and half weeks, I've grown accustomed to seeing at least one member of my team every 24 hours, and allowing them to see my emotions pour out whenever I felt like sharing them. I slept entire days away if depression weighed me down or my physical strength was lacking, and I made eating meals a priority because nothing else stood in the way. I didn't hide what I was feeling because I didn't have to put on a show for anyone; if I was angry, they heard about it. If I was upset, they saw the tears. It was all very raw, very real, and allowed me to really face my fears, confront my demons, and gain the strength to fight back against the eating disorder.

Whether I want to accept it or not, returning to work will require me to fight through tough moments for the sake of holding it together, being a professional, and keeping my personal life separate from work. I, obviously, question my ability to do so considering I still feel very fragile, slightly broken, and not entirely confident in my own skin. Even on good days, I am usually just a moment or two away from tears, and often just one stressful situation away from skipping a meal, purging, or starting a cycle of starvation in an attempt to gain control of at least one aspect of my life.

A few tears slid down my face today when I told LA one of my biggest fears is that everyone will eventually get sick of putting up with me, supporting me, and playing the role of cheerleader. In my mind, most people leave when they have had enough, and I feel I am only a few mistakes away from a mass exodus of the support circle I have come to rely on. LA said (so confidently that I believed her) that people only leave when they sense their efforts are not appreciated. Thankfully, I do consider showing appreciation to others to be a strength of mine. Maybe this time, I have let the right people in, and they will stand by me as I take a leap of faith and try to continue the positive routine I've established. I certainly hope so, as I have grown to care about them deeply- especially those who have seen me in my darkest moments and still noticed my (sometimes dim) will to fight and desire to heal.

I had a lot of help today to bring me to a place where I feel ready to return to my life. LA walked me through the eating schedule I should use during the workday, and the last text I received from her this evening read: "You are tough and I have great faith in you". For someone who is used to fighting battles alone, those words were priceless. Mama K made me send her three pictures of myself in work outfits to prove that I have not gained a ton of weight (I was concerned that my work clothes would no longer fit after two weeks of actual eating), and we shared quite a few laughs while sending pictures back and forth. She helped me decide what to wear tomorrow to feel confident in my job and potential again.

Just within the last hour, I received an encouraging email response from Dr. Joe that made me laugh (I do find some of the thing he says to be amusing, though that it typically not his intention). It read: "Ok, M. Good luck going in...break a leg...oh wait, you already did". He probably spent all day thinking that up, but I loved this off-color reference to my recent stress fracture and the fact that he wished me well on my first day back to work. I was so excited about his funny email that I accidentally wrote back and mentioned the fact that I ran a half marathon last weekend on my "broken leg". Shit...I'll be receiving a lecture about that during my appointment with him tomorrow...

So the two and a half weeks are up. Like so many other areas of my life, I set goals for the time off and dedicated myself to achieving them. I'm eating regularly again, purged only once in two weeks (and completely understand and accept why the situation led me to do so), begun to heal my body, and have established a very strong support network that I hope will carry me through the rest of recovery. To me, the greatest display of appreciation would be to show those who love and support me that I can kick this and start to love myself and my body again.

Tomorrow will not be easy. I may even need to shut my office door and let out some tears when I arrive, as the large majority of people in my department will have absolutely no idea what I have been through these last few months and weeks. And I'll have LA's advice running through my head all day long ("one foot in front of the other, one step at a time") to get through the day without falling apart.

My food for the day is packed: apple + cheese for 10:30 snack; turkey on wheat + carrots + soup for lunch; grapes + Greek yogurt for afternoon snack.

My outfit has been selected by Mama K (and LA agreed...I somehow picked up two "mothers" along the way!): gray pinstripe skirt and black button down shirt, heels (duh).

An appointment with Dr. Joe is set for tomorrow after work (so I can either unload on him or bawl my eyes out, whatever the situation calls for).

My cell phone is fully charged so I can text away in moments of crisis throughout the day (although I do not anticipate many...cautious optimism?).

I set aside $2.55 to visit Starbucks in the morning (god, I HATE that I picked up that habit while off work! I may need treatment for that addiction next).

I am ready for bed.

Wish me luck.

Tomorrow awaits.

Something's Changed

2010-11-01T12:55:00.000-07:00

In approximately a day and a half, I'll be returning to my "life". I was anxious about it (still am, a little), but today I realized something has changed...for the better.

This morning, I was texting (of course) with Mama K, who was under the impression I was going back to work today (she had a lot of wine this weekend, I'll forgive her for forgetting). We, of course, discussed the transition and I expressed the fact that I am nervous about returning to restricting and purging when met with the stress of my chaotic schedule and life. She texted back to me: "I really don't think you will let that happen at this point."

I thought to myself: oh yes I could! Trust me. I know how to screw this up. Been there, done that! This would not be the first time I have found myself in a good place, only to later self-destruct and return to old patterns at the first sign of distress.

After meeting with LA this afternoon, however, I realized that maybe I am different this time. Now I know what I didn't know back then, and indeed, something has changed. There was evidence of this evolution over the weekend as well, as I caught myself eating post-race Chicago deep dish pizza with my three running friends and smiled a litle inside. The Old Me certainly would have never touched it, regardless of running 13 miles beforehand. Surely, the pizza was a sign of progress in the right direction, and I may have come just far enough this time that there is really no turning back.

Perhaps I have reached the other side of the mountain LA encouraged me to chip with a spoon. Or at very least, I can see through to the other side and am no longer hanging out in the darkness.

More evidence that something (or some things...plural, even!) have changed:

1. I ran a half marathon without monitoring my Garmin for pace and time information every quarter mile. I just ran with the Chicago cityscape on one side and the lake's waves crashing up on the other, listening to whatever came on through my iPod (yep, you heard me right...not even a planned playlist...am I becoming Type B? Is that even possible?), and still crossed the finish line with a respectable time.

(Ok, I'm not going to lie to myself on that one...the time was respectable but I had a slight twinge of remorse when I saw it wasn't under 2 hours as it normally is...but I was able to let it go. Hey, I am who I am!).

2. I indulged in a massive carb fest the night before the race. LA had to make me feel ok about it during our meeting today, but in the moment I had no real issue with it and knew I needed to eat a lot to be able to run. I had a line from LA's scary email in my head as I was eating it: "You cannot be a successful athlete- and more importantly a healthy individual- if you are of low body weight." I did not feel guilty. I knew it was the right thing to do. I ate. I overate. I had a giant chocolate and caramel-covered pretzel rod afterwards too. I let it go because there was a reason for it (not crashing and burning while out on the course) and it was all good.

3. I told LA today it's time to step it up with the food because I have marathon training right around the corner. I need to eat a LOT to get through it. I need to be ok with it. I have never asked to step it up with food before, but today I told LA what we are going to do and she let out a little "yay!". It's time to hit the food hard. Let's get this show on the road. I have 26.2 miles to run in March, and the rest of my life ahead of me.

4. I bought cookies at the grocery store today. Yes, they are Kashi brand and made with whole grains, oatmeal, and dark chocolate. But in my world, they count as cookies. Slap a point up on my side of the scoreboard, thankyouverymuch.

5. I had to skip breakfast this morning thanks to an 8:00 AM ultrasound on my abdomen, and I was pissed. I wanted my peanut butter and banana shake. I can no longer fathom a life without that shake. So I'll probably continue to eat breakfast now that I've started back up again. Why the hell not.

6. My focus has shifted to being strong, not being small. While I still flinch at the thought of adding more calories to my day, I know I need to in order to be strong. Strong is beautiful. I want to be strong. In order to be strong, I may have to let go of "small". It'll be difficult to say good-bye, but knowing strength awaits makes it an acceptable trade-off.

7. I have allowed myself to trust a handful of people in my life, and they have proven to me I can rely on them unconditionally. Mama K may be right. I don't think I would allow myself to slip too far before reaching out to one of the few people I have grown to trust. Dr. Joe is a phone call or email away, and he can somehow always get information out of me during my appointments with him. LA even just got a new cell phone and is learning to text more efficiently. And I'm a constant-contact, wired-in, communcation-obsessed Millennial, so the fact that they tolerate this obnoxiousness from me works in my favor.

8. I locked myself out of the house on Friday after grabbing the dog's leash instead of my lanyard with the keys on it. After trying to open my car with the end of the leash, I collapsed in a fit of laughter on the front lawn. While cracking myself up I thought: holy shit, I have suddenly become such a mellow person.

(I throw this in there as #8 because anyone who knows how high-strung I can be will find this to be an out-of-character response from me during a mini-crisis...it is indeed indicative of some kind of change, I promise you).

Little things eventually add up to big things. Something has indeed changed, even aside from the eight notable changes I mentioned above (nine if you count the deep dish pizza...and you should!). I'm unsure of the catalyst (Dr. Joe? Running? LA? Friends? Me? The time off?), but I don't care at this point. I'm pretty sure things may have improved just enough over the last two weeks to give me the push I needed to get over the mountain.

Yeah...I threw the spoon away. The spoon-chipping worked in the beginning, but now it's time for the real excavation to begin. Anyone willing to trust me with a forklift (insert maniacal laugh here)?

Running Away...Just for Two Hours

2010-10-29T22:21:00.000-07:00

I struggled today. Out of nowhere, I suddenly did not want to eat my lunch and fought back tears and the eating disorder voice telling me to "just skip it." I had a bit of a meltdown when I realized I had to go up a size in an Under Armour compression shirt (in that moment, I should have recalled the fact that all of their shirts run super-small and it is probably not me, but Mr. ED was screaming at me). In other words, the eating disorder voice was loud and clear today, barking in my ear.

I ate a turkey sandwich and some other food for lunch. I bought the bigger size. I texted LA for help and she sent me a fiesty (yet encouraging) email containing the f-word. At the end of the day, I suppose I won.

I just finished packing to go away for a short weekend trip to Chicago...with running friends....to run...a half marathon...

I have been registered for this race for several months. Now, before anyone flips out, calls Dr. Joe to try to have me committed, or tries to put a boot on my car to stop me, let me explain this decision.

For starters, I was given the green light to return to running from Dr. K. I have tested my leg twice since then with moderately fast training runs, and felt pretty good. No real pain at, around, or near the site of the stress fracture. Considering I was probably running on the stress fracture all summer long without realizing it, taking a few weeks off was probably all that the crack needed to heal up just fine. The X-ray had even shown a large amount of healing tissue around the fracture, which led Dr. K to believe I was well into the healing stage. Dr. K is also treating me for the other physical issues I am facing at the moment, but is still ok with physical activity (and, yes, she knows me well enough to know that my "physical activity" is a little more than just walking to the mailbox). I have been resting all week, and the reality of the situation is that I am handling the stomach issues as best I can at the moment. I'm taking the medications I've been given, following the doctors' advice, and will be getting an ultrasound on my gallbladder on Monday. Running in this race is not going to change anything (the damage is done and is being dealt with), and all of those problems will still exist whether I lie in bed or go run 13 miles. So I'm running the 13 miles.

Secondly, my approach to this weekend's run couldn't be more different than in the past. Never in my life (seriously- I cannot think of a single time in 28 years) have I participated in a race or sporting event "just because". Sure, I approach (some) training runs or workouts with that attitude, but in general, if there is competition to be had, I'm all in. But this weekend, I am using this opportunity to be with my thoughts, to remind myself who I am, and to find some of the strength I know used to be (and still is) somewhere inside of me. I need to be able to tap into that strength and motivation a bit to get over the hurdles that are sure to come next in this process.

This laid-back approach to the race does not mean that I won't push myself if I feel good, or aim for a PR if it ends up within my reach (doubtful after the time off). But what it does mean is that I will be stepping up to the starting line with no expectations, a positive attitude, and the main goal of having fun and enjoying myself.

Did I mention this race is Halloween-themed? Oh yeah...it is. I'll be running 13 miles dressed as Catwoman, and there are sure to be many other freaks in this race. Needless to say the goal of "having fun" is sure to be met. Runners...we're all a little off anyhow. Just add a holiday and the insanity is taken to a whole new level.

Throughout my recovery, several people have tried to persuade me to stop training, competing, and working out. Most people do not realize that the number of hours I spend each exercising has been cut down by one third, and is much more controlled than it used to be. Reducing the number of hours spent on physical activity was the very first deal Dr. Joe struck with me: I decreased by one third and started eating, and I could continue to train as I pleased. The goal for my recovery was never to move me away from what I love: pushing my limits physically, working out, setting and training towards personal goals. Rather, the goal has always been to find a way to balance my need for intensity with healthy eating habits, an acceptable athletic weight, and an absence of eating disorder behaviors.

Right now, a full marathon and a 50K are goals that lie before me in the new year. Am I ready to tackle them right now? Absolutely not. I know I am not healthy or eating nearly enough to successfully train for either. But I will stick to those goals and use them as fuel to push me forward into the later stages of recovery, where there is little room for obsessing over food and fueling takes priority. These dates are on my calendar and not moving, and the sense of pride I'll feel when I cross the finish line will be even more sweet knowing what I have overcome in order to rebuild my body's strength.

More than likely, I will always be an athlete in some form. Sports and competition have been a part of my life for the majority of the time I have been alive and on this planet. To suggest that I should walk away from a lifestyle I love and enjoy is to take away a very, very big part of who I am. It would also mean I would need to rebuild my after-work wardrobe, since I spend most of my outside-of-the-office time in gym clothes...and I don't really have the money or desire to change my "look" (kidding).

So I keep running. I keep training. I back off when I need to (now, for example), and work towards approaching what I love in a healthier way. But I will never, ever give it up completely. I'm much too driven for that, and I need an outlet for my competitiveness (or else I'd start competing in the office, with friends, with my dog...no one wants that, trust me).

This weekend's run is a step towards restoring a sense of normalcy to my life, especially as I gear up to return back to work later on this week. Running the 13 miles, regardless of the pace or tears shed, will remind me who I am: someone who sets goals and achieves them, someone who supports her friends and loves to watch them achieve, and someone who refuses to be knocked down.

Monday morning, I'll be going through yet another medical procedure, followed by a nutrition therapy appointment with LA. I've dedicated 100% of the last two weeks to getting better, establishing a foundation for long-term recovery, and rebuilding my health after causing some pretty serious damage. But for two hours, I'm just going to enjoy the run and get in touch with the strong, driven, fun-loving girl I know is still inside. I need to get back in touch with her to find the strength to fix what has been broken, forgive myself, and move on to the life (and races!) that lie ahead.

Day 8 Intensive: Ups, Downs, and the Dog's ED

2010-10-28T20:02:00.000-07:00

Today was truly a day of ups and downs, a lovely array of emotions that just about made me crazy. The ups were products of a lunch with the crazy work friends I absolutely adore, teaching a cycling class filled with my regulars and running friends, and letting out some frustration in LA's office. Finding out more so-so medical news brought about the downs, as well as a few sudden "I'm done eating this stupid meal plan" moments.

Dr. K greeted me this morning with a more detailed version of my scope results from GI Guy. I'm not entirely sure why GI Guy did not go into the level of detail Dr. K was able to, however, I will chalk that up to him being a boy (similar to Dr. Joe's guy moments, I suppose). Come to think of it, I was pretty f-ed up after the procedure, and was in and out of sleep mode. I probably wouldn't have wanted to have an in-depth conversation with me either. Regardless, after the details emerged, it was evident to me that the situation is not as rosy as I was led to believe the other day. Dr. K delivered the following news:

The scope showed evidence of bleeding in the lining of my stomach.
My esophagus, though not torn, was inflammed.
Presence of ulcers- confirmed.
The pain in my back is probably stemming from the gallbladder (thrown off by imbalances in enzymes and perhaps other horrible side effects from repeated vomiting), so she asked GI Guy to order an ultrasound to take a closer look. If the pain is in fact stemming from the gallbladder, this completely useless organ will be removed from my body. Bye-by gallbladder, f%&k you for causing me such pain.

In other news, I could have hugged Dr. K (she would have been taken aback by this, so I refrained) when she 1. wrote me out a prescription for some heavy duty painkillers (in anticipation of Episode #6: Excrutiating Pain, which is bound to happen sooner or later), and 2. cleared me to run. Yes, RUN. I can run again. I wanted to run right then and there. Away from Dr. K. Down the hall. Down the stairs. In my silver flats. I didn't care.

The fact that I can return to running was such good news I almost forgot about the other stuff. Until I heard Dr. Joe's voice in my head: "Don't you ever forget!" and decided I should keep it in my head a little while longer.

Thankfully, I was able to push Dr. K's mixed news out of my head when I left the office, as I was meeting my coworker pals for lunch. I feel honored that they have missed having me around the office, and I was looking forward to catching up with them about office happenings and student stories. College students are like walking sitcoms; there is literally never a dull moment when working in higher education.

My coworkers haven't really seen me eat well in a very long time, so I'm sure the fact that I downed my entire salad at Rockne's came as a bit of a surprise to them. I'm sure they were pleased, and hoping I'll be making runs to the student center for homemade chips and peanut butter brownies again in the very near future. I hope so too. I kind of miss those brownies, to be honest. But not yet...

After lunch was a trip to LA's office. I came unraveled a bit there, perhaps from the news I had received this morning. LA, always on the same wavelength as me for some reason I cannot quite figure out, hit the nail on the head when she said "I sense that you are caught between denial ("don't listen to them, it's not that bad") and panic ("oh shit, this is really serious"). She's exactly right. Each time I get news about my medical condition, I flip-flop between pushing it back to the deepest, most unaccessible corner of my brain and/or letting it bring me to tears.

It's hard to forget that the pain and damage has been, for the most part, self-induced. It's when I allow myself to think about that fact that the waterworks are turned on and the weight of extreme guilt sets in. I suppose it is in those moments that the reality is pushed back. It's a self-preservation thing, really.

Anyhow, LA spent double the usual time with me, as always. She even researched some of the things Dr. K and GI Guy told me so we can better understand my conditions and how to handle them from here on out. I texted Mama K after meeting with LA and said "I'm not sure why people like you and LA have latched on to me and go above and beyond to help me, but I am very, very appreciative."

She responded: "We all believe in you!". Dr. Joe told me once that one of my skills is creating pseudo-family around me. I'm glad I have people in my life who allow me to do just that.

Another slight "down" for today: I've been making a lot of progress with eating over the last few weeks, but for some reason have hit a bit of wall. It's not that I'm slipping back or even considering going back to certain behaviors (especially given the recent medical developments), but I'm starting to pull back just enough to stop the progress moving forward. I'm not sure why. Yesterday's lunch was smaller than usual and a bit restrictive, and I had to just revert back to the robotic chicken-rice-broccoli meal tonight so I wouldn't overthink dinner. LA says this is normal, that my progress will sometimes be significant, and at other times, slip back a little. I think the new anxiety over food is stemming from a lack of physical activity this week due to the scope procedure and not feeling well (thank you, gallbladder pain, or whatever). While I'm making big strides, I am still a calories-in/ calories-out kind of girl (the need to purge in some way still lingers!) and absence from the gym this week isn't exactly driving me headfirst into large plates of food.

In other news, our 15-pound Jack Russell terrier mix has developed an eating disorder, so I'm being forced to take the blame for this recent development. The once-gluttonous little pig has started to restrict. He is now refusing to eat bananas (once an all-time favorite), spitting out grilled chicken (another drool-inducing treat), and hiding the bits of apple I toss to him under the sofa. In addition, he will not touch the food in his dish unless one of us stands over him and repeatedly says "good boy!" as he chomps away (this is rather odd, though, as most with eating disorders do not want to be watched while eating...I'm not sure what game he is playing). I blame The Mr. for talking about the dog's weight in front of him, thus giving him a complex. The Mr. blames me, saying the dog is constantly witnessing his mommy obsess over food. Regardless of who is to blame, the dog needs to get over his ED fast. There is only room for one of us in this house, and I'm working much harder than he is to overcome my issues.

So there you have it...kind of a downer of a post (with the exception of the dog's ED issues), I know it. But, hey, it's real and that's what's going on. Tomorrow is an appointment/therapy/treatment-free day. I'll actually kind of miss Dr. Joe, LA, Dr. K...even GI Guy (why not, he needs love too).

What an odd and twisted life I lead at the moment!

Taking Halloween Just a Little Too Far

2010-10-28T08:11:00.000-07:00

While out with The Mr. the other day, we stopped at a Halloween store to pick up a few last minute details for his "Google Programmer Nerd" costume (hey, we're not 30 yet...we'll grow up then).

Typically, I am not easily offended and have a pretty liberal (if not sick) sense of humor. In the past, I may have even laughed about this, but given the extreme emotional dispair, physical side effects, and hopelessness I have experienced firsthand thanks to the onset of an eating disorder, I was taken aback when I saw this Halloween costume on the rack:

"Anna Rexia" Halloween Costume

Anna Rexia. For $14.99, any attention-seeking college girl can dress up as a horrible disorder that destroys the mental and physical well-being of millions of girls year after year. The Mr. quickly pulled me away from the display, sensing one hell of a rant coming on from his quick-tempered, redheaded, outspoken Taurus of a wife.

Even though it has been several days since I walked away from that display in digust, I keep thinking about this costume. Many tasteless and offensive Halloween costumes exist out there, yet they still provoke laughter in me and I have always had the "it's all in good fun" attitude. Anna Rexia hits a certain nerve with me, and I know it is because of my close proximity to a complicated issue that has been reduced down to such simplistic parody.

The costume represents the inaccurate yet widespread belief that eating disorders are nothing more than selfish, attention-seeking, over-indulgent obsessions with weight and size. A sexy, skeletal girl with a measuring tape...it's the picture many imagine when they hear the term "anorexia". But what cannot be portrayed is what lies underneath: the self-loathing, the punishment, the guilt, the blame, the deep depression, the perfectionist tendencies...THAT is the real anorexia. It's the anorexia I've come to know as I've fallen victim to it.

Listen in on any therapy session (not that we would ever allow such a thing) or meeting between an ED client and her dietitian and it will become immediately evident that there is much more to this disorder than what meets the eye. Food and weight is not the obsession, rather it is a means to self-destruct, to inflict pain, to disappear emotionally and physically. For the perfectionist, control over weight and food is a means by which self-worth and achievement is measured.

What are your thoughts on the Anna Rexia costume? All in good fun, or pushing the limits?

I'll gracefully step off my soapbox now :)

Day 7 Intensive: The Gray Area of Recovery

2010-10-27T19:19:00.000-07:00

(You may be wondering what happened to Day 6 Intensive...that was yesterday. While I met with LA, I was then put under for the endoscopy and don't remember much after that; hence, the gaping hole in my blog).

So I pick up at Day 7. Today was a casual treatment day compared to the last week or so, as I was not double-teamed by doctors or running from office to office. I slept in (much needed considering I was up until 5:00 AM with the pain of a lifetime), took my car in for an oil change to make the message on the dashboard go away (why else would I get an oil change?), made a pit stop at Target (yes, there is a Starbucks in Target...stopped there too), and found myself on Dr. Joe's sofa around 3:00 PM.

At Dr. Joe's, the topic of the hour was the upcoming return to work. Two weeks ago, when my supervisor offered me two weeks leave, I balked. Two weeks away from the office had seemed like eternity, given my full-throttle approach to career and, well, life in general. The decision to step away, focus on myself, and get serious about recovering my body and mind was not an easy one to make. I had initially internalized a leave from work as yet another failure in this battle, a sign that I couldn't tackle this while keeping all the other balls in the air as well as I thought I could.

Now, with the two weeks coming to an end, the thought of returning to work induces a mixture of relief and panic. I keep trying to put my finger on what is causing the anxiety about returning to my "real life", and Dr. Joe helped me to poinpoint it today. I mentioned it in my Group Therapy Experiment post a few days ago: I seem to have settled into the Gray Area of Recovery, a fragile state of safety.

I've arrived at the Gray Area thanks to the two weeks off. It's the in between stage; the point at which I am no longer critically sick, but not really fully recovered either. It's a delicate place to be. It's the stage where those around me begin to see signs of progress on the outside in the form of regular eating, maybe adding a few pounds (god, I hope not too many!), balanced mood, a few more smiles and the return of laughter. But inside, things are (and will continue to be) a bit of a mess, and there is a lot of work that lies ahead.

In the last two weeks, I have built a very comfortable support system around me and could count on very regular (daily, in some cases) contact with LA and Dr. Joe, who together serve as the unconditional foundation that holds me together. LA and I even joked today that we have probably fallen into some kind of client-nutritionist interdependence, as not meeting today seemed a little strange to both of us. While on leave, it has been a relief to know that I only need to get through mere hours on my own, as opposed to going a week in between appointments. The upcoming return to weekly meetings leaves me feeling nervously independent again. While I know they are only a phone call or email away, I also know that I still struggle to reach out when I really need it for fear of winning the #1 Neediest Client of All Time award (I'm sure I'm on the short list of finalists at this point).

Also anxiety-producing is the (perhaps unfounded) belief that I will be expected to hit the ground running when I return from leave...and in all areas of my life. I, in many ways, feel as though we have just begun the recovery process; however, I worry that even the most supportive people in my life will assume the time off has restored me back to normal. Sure, I'm eating full meals again. But it still takes a lot of mental strength to do so. And will I be ready to go out and nonchalantly binge on junk food with my friends any time soon? I may never be, in all honesty. Have I fully "cheered up" and been broken free from the deep, self-hating depression that haunted me early on in recovery? No. I've grown used to having the time to rest my body, or to stay up late to fight off pain knowing I can sleep it off in the morning. There is still lot of garbage that needs to be cleaned up after this storm, and two weeks is just not enough time to do it all. I was broken...very broken. It'll take time to glue me back together. We've only just begun.

I fear my first big task back at work will break the delicate confidence that has been restored over the last two weeks. I fear the first sign of weight gain will throw me back into the cycle I've just escaped, and that I'll allow my pride to stand in the way of asking for help. I fear that I will challenge myself with foods and not be able to handle it. Most of all, I fear I will be left alone in this fight once I have convinced everyone around me I am "better." I fear relapses, and having to rebuild my life again and again and again.

I fear breaking again.

Dr. Joe said today that he is confident I will always land on my feet, that I am just that kind of person who will always find my way out of a bad situation. I hope he knows me well enough by now to be right.

I did speak to my boss today and the plan, as of now, is to return back to work next Wednesday. This means extending the leave by two additional days, but I think it's what I need to wrap up the work I've been doing with my team and transition slowly back into the rest of my life. I want to make sure I am really ready to go back and face stress again, and that the slightest breeze will not blow away the seeds we've just planted (that was a Dr. Joe shout-out right there...he uses the "seed" reference quite often).

Even though Dr. Joe was hard on me earlier in the week, it's not a persona he is able to maintain given that it is so far from his natural demeanor. Today, the nurturing, supportive therapist I have come to know and trust was back, and the quote he left me with today was "Hey, M. We're not going to let you go back scared and unprepared."

So how to handle the Gray Area? I'm still not entirely sure. At some point, life has to go on, whether I am ready for it or not. Let's face it: the world has continued to move along without me over the last two weeks as I exited to the left. In about a week, it will be time to hop back on. It will never really be the same; I'm not the same person I was when I began this process and I will continue to change as I grow stronger and more confident in myself.

The Gray Area, though I do not yet know how to handle it, is a better place to be than at the very beginning (which would probably be known as the Black Area?). I do not even really remember much about the Black Area, but LA reminded me recently. Starving, malnourished, and weak, I was difficult to converse with, teared up at the sight of food, and severely depressed. If being in the Gray Area means I have moved beyond those dark days, I'll take it.

Blogging Through the Pain

2010-10-27T00:53:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been exactly a week since the last episode of intense pain in my back, which resulted in the late-night emergency room adventure. Dr. Joe must have sensed I am starting to feel better and decided he wanted to remind me of the pain one last time. It's 2:42 AM (nevermind the blog time stamp I still have yet to correct), and I imagine he is sitting in his office, stabbing the voo-doo doll in the back and saying out loud "she needs to feel this pain one more time!"

Meanwhile, I sit here on the first floor of my house with the laptop, blogging through the intense pain that has become all too familiar. This is Episode #5, and I'm not sure how many more of these moments I have in me at this point, as they are unbelievably painful, exhausting, and draining. I've described it to all of my doctors and to LA as an excrutiating, intense pain likened to a knife stabbing me in the back. It all starts with a burning sensation in my esophagus, serving as a forewarning signal to hunker down and prepare for the worst because the stabbing sensation is about to set in and I will need to fight through it hard for hours.

When the pain hits, I will do just about anything to make it go away. Since no one determined what this pain is, there is no relief protocol, no prescribed drugs to make it go away. During the worst moments of it (which were about an hour ago), tonight's please-make-it-stop routine went a little something like this:

1. I wake up screaming in pain. The dog jumps out of bed, panicked, and stares at me with a look that is half concerned, half annoyed. The Mr. casually rolls over and sleepily says "huh?" (yeah, it takes him a minute to focus when this happens).

2. I hunch over in bed, curling up in a ball to make it stop. That doesn't work. I lay out straight. Still there. I get up and walk around the room. The pain is crippling. I wonder why I even bother to try...after four episodes of this, I should know by now that nothing makes it go away; I just have to fight through it.

3. I demand that The Mr. grab me something- anything- remotely close to a pain reliever. He brings me two ibuprofen, one of which I drop in the sheets. I scream again. He turns on the light and searches for it as I writhe around in pain, cursing like a sailor.

4. Even after taking the ibuprofen, I consider calling my neighbor (and very close friend of mine) to see if she has any vicodin. I should state that my neighbor is not a prescription drug addict or the neighborhood drug dealer, and that I have no idea why the thought that she might have some popped into my head. But in the desperation of the moment, it seemed like an excellent plan. I decide, however, to allow her her beauty rest and put down the phone.

5. Chocolate milk! Milk neutralizes acid, right?! I must go drink a glass of chocolate milk...that has got to be the surefire remedy I have been missing all along...I head downstairs to the refrigerator.

6. Xanax! We have some from when The Mr. experienced anxiety during graduate school. I shake him violently to wake him up and demand to know where the Xanax is. Maybe if I take down some kind of vicodin-Xanax cocktail I will just pass out and wake up in the morning in a pain-free oblivion. He calls me crazy and offers me the heating pad instead.

(I should mention at this point that I hate drugs of any kind and rarely even take ibuprofen...so you can see how much pain I'm in if I'm demanding vicodin and Xanax, and how insane this pain makes me to think that combining them might be the answer.)

7. The heating pad is now on the full-throttle setting and placed underneath my back. I'm guzzling water from a giant Nalgene bottle.

8. I suddenly stop guzzling water from a Nalgene bottle, remembering from Episodes #2 and #3 that drinking water during this pain led me to vomit unintentionally. I panic. I don't want to vomit. This irony of this thought distracts me for a moment, as I am confused. Didn't I used to induce vomiting on a regular basis on my own free will? What on earth was I thinking? Weird. Back to the pain...

9. I want Hot Doctor from last week's ER visit to stop by and handle this for me. Then I remember that I just woke up, it's 2:30 AM, I am without makeup, wearing my Vanderbilt track and field t-shirt and capri pajama bottoms, and that I only used dry shampoo on my hair earlier today. And I'm not attractive when I'm a raging bitch in excrutiating pain. And, oh yeah, I'm married.

10. I hear my friend L's voice in mind head: "Just go blog". One of the few people I had confided in early on about my eating disorder treatment, I went to her once when eating lunch at work brought me to tears. She told me to go write while I ate to distract myself, and it had worked. I grab my laptop and head down to the first floor of our house to write through the pain.

So far, it is working. So here I am. It is now 3:21 AM, and I am on the sofa with the heating pad. I just wrote all of the above and didn't really think about the pain; I just let it subside gradually. I did not wake up my neighbor demanding drugs she probably does not have. I did not pop a Xanax in a moment of pain-induced loss of common sense. I allowed The Mr. and the dog to go back to sleep. Hot Doctor is still working at the ER where he belongs, instead of on his way to my house (bummer on that, though).

It could be that I worked through the pain like the tough chick I am. Or it could also be that Dr. Joe just simply fell asleep and finally let the voo-doo doll fall to the floor. Who knows. Either way, the worst of tonight's episode is over- hopefully.

I was going to post about the results of the scope later today, but since I'm up and still need distraction from the lingering discomfort, I'll just include that in this post too.

Honestly, I don't remember a thing from the procedure. The biggest mistake GI Guy made with me was showing me the "educational" (read: "scare-the-hell-out-of-the-innocent-patient") video last week, as my previous ignorance of endoscopies was probably a good thing. The video had made me very, very scared and nervous about what I was about to endure, when in reality, they could have done just about anything to me and I wouldn't have known the difference. I was out cold.

While I'm still waiting on biopsy results (that will take about a week), I did get some immediate feedback from the scope. GI Guy did not see signs of any significant damage to the esophagus (he said there probably was at one point given the burning I was feeling, but it may have healed over the last week). This is, obviously, good news. However, the scope revealed I do have several ulcers. The ulcers combined with the severe acid reflux (not uncommon among people who have engaged in self-induced vomiting over a period of time) are probably combining to create the extreme pain and discomfort I sometimes feel.

This still doesn't explain the back pain, but I'll chat with Dr. K about that on Thursday. She will have my scope results and will probably go over them with me again anyhow since GI Guy did so while I was coming out of a drug-induced state (why do they bother to talk to you at that moment anyhow?).

I was not permitted to eat all day in preparation for the scope, so when it was over, I was famished. LA saw me this morning and got a kick out of the fact that I desperately wanted to eat (she rarely hears the words "I'm starving!" come out of my mouth). I was, of course, craving my stand-by peanut-butter-banana smoothie, so I had The Mr. head to Robeks to get me one and downed it in about thirty seconds. We came home and I went straight to bed, where I was for the majority of the evening to let the anesthesia wear off.

Given the pain I was in about an hour ago, I am once again glad I started this blog as an outlet for the pain (physical and emotional) I've endured while fighting this battle. Writing tonight helped me forget about the imaginary knife stabbing me in the back, providing a much needed distraction. And with that, I'm going to go have another glass of acid-neutralizing chocolate milk (am I making that up?) and return to bed, hoping the worst of this Episode #5 is behind me.

Night everyone...although I'm probably the only one not in bed at the moment!

Day 5 Intensive: Group Therapy Experiment

2010-10-25T20:27:00.000-07:00

(Long post this evening...my apologies in advance! Today was packed with all kinds of recovery goodness.)

During a recent moment of temporary insanity, I happened to mention to Dr. Joe that I wanted to search for an eating disorder support group in my area. Well, as you can imagine, both Dr. Joe and LA latched on to this idea like dogs on bones, so I've been receiving some subtle "encouragement" to attend one this evening at a local eating disorder outpatient clinic.

I do not consider myself a "group therapy" kind of person (if there even is such a thing). I have always had it in my mind, perhaps unfounded, that my situation is somehow unique. Well, let's face it: it is not. There are millions of people out there struggling with various eating disorders, and while our individual situations differ, there are some underlying issues most of us struggle with universally. We might as well bond over them while lounging on some fluffy pillows.

Starbucks coffee has suddenly become my security blanket this past week (I don't drink it regularly, yet keep randomly finding myself in their drive-thru on my way to therapy and nutrition appointments), so I feel the gravitational pull towards the white and green sign on my way to the support group. I wonder for a moment if a latte is illegal contraband in the eating disorder support group world. I decide I don't care and that I will just own my role as the support group Bad Influence right from the start.

On the way to the clinic, I try to "have an open mind" (since Mama K had just texted me that motherly advice several minutes before). I try to really think about why I have self-indentified as a Group Therapy Hater, and here's what I came up with:

1. I am certain I will be the largest one in the room (have YOU ever been in a room full of anorexics and felt skinny? Just sayin'...).

2. I read on the clinic's website that group members are not permitted to talk about specific urges or behaviors while in the group setting. I'm not sure how I will be able to relate to the others if I'm not allowed to speak of the behaviors and patterns that got me to this point in the first place.

3. I'm not convinced that other eating disordered individuals are the best friend choices for me right now. Imagine two recovering anorexics going out to dinner together. The mind reels, does it not? I imagine calling another ED girl and telling her "I am tempted to skip eating all together today" and hearing the not-so-healthy response: "Oooh! Me too!". Supportive, yes. The kind of support I need? Probably not. And the last thing I need is to be supporting someone else through their own struggles when my own recovery is still spotty at best.

Despite the lack of signage at the eating disorder clinic, there is no mistaking that I have arrived at the right place. A skeletal girl several years younger than me is slouching on a sofa, arms crossed and looking severely depressed. Another girl with a head of unruly brown curls is sitting on a large pillow on the floor, wearing a pair of ripped Express jeans that I instantly decide I want. To my surprise, a thirty-something man wearing athletic gear is sitting in an armchair. Two other women greet me with smiles. It is somehow immediately evident to me that they are counselors and not patients, though I can't quite put my finger on it. Perhaps it is indeed their bright smiles; they appear too happy to be battling such a draining disorder.

I take a seat next to Skeleton Girl, gripping my Starbucks cup tightly and praying no one makes me throw it away. Cute Jeans Girl takes a swig out of her own Starbucks cup just as I catch her eye. I smile at her, and she smiles back with instant understanding. Coffee appears to be acceptable in ED support group. I guess they are just happy we are putting anything at all into our bodies.

When the clock hits 6:30, Counselor A starts by asking everyone to share their name and a little about themselves. Cute Jeans Girl is clearly a regular, as the counselors joke around with her and ask her about recent developments in her life. When it comes to me, I say the words I never thought I would say to a group of people, forming my introduction from the cues I picked up from the others: "Hi. I'm M. I'm about three months into recovery from anorexia and working independently with a treatment team. I'm still in the beginning stages of refeeding and just took a two-week leave of absence from my job as a college administrator to do some intensive work with my team".

Cute Jeans Girl smiles at me again and says "You are so lucky you got to take a leave. I had to resign from my job to do six weeks in an inpatient program." I nod, knowingly. But in reality, her statement scares me to death. Could that have been me? Certainly I would have never let myself drop to that point...

In both of my jobs (as a college administrator and fitness instructor), I have been trained to build community. I am used to being in the leadership role within a group such as this; typically I am the one asking the questions, facilitating the conversation, seeing to it that the participants are engaging in conversation. When Counselor B's (who we later find out in an intern) opening question is met with awkward silence from the group, I forget where I am and automatically take my routine position as the first to speak.

When I finish providing my input on the "gray area" of recovery (I will blog about this another time...it's a topic I've been wanting to write about soon), Cute Jeans Girl is nodding, wide-eyed.

"Oh my gosh, I can so relate to that. That is my situation exactly." As she piggy-backs on my response, I decide I like her and that we totally get each other. I make a mental note to befriend Cute Jeans Girl after the meeting is over. Perhaps we can start hanging out at Starbucks together before these ridiculous meetings.

Cute Jeans Girl and I monopolized tonight's support group, sharing stories and relating well to one another in between taking sips from our matching Starbucks cups. Counselors A and B were soaking us up, enthusiastically throwing ideas and support our way. When a moment of silence finally crept up, Guy In Fitness Gear randomly stood up from the armchair and asked "Can I leave now and come back another time? My anxiety is really kicking up here."

I saw a flash of confusion on Counselor B's face, but she quickly recovered. "Certainly," she says. "You are welcome to leave at any time. We hope you return."

He bolts for the door. I suddenly remember why group therapy freaks me out.

Cute Jeans Girl and I stare silently at the floor, probably both wondering if we had set off the crazy guy's anxiety button with our conversational tennis match. Counselor A comes to the rescue by asking Skeleton Girl how she is feeling, pointing out that she has been very quiet this evening. Skeleton Girl says she is depressed, has no motivation, and keeps spiraling into the same cycle of starvation. She feels extreme guilt, and makes mention of the fact that she is a high-achiever in all other areas of her life, aside from tackling this disorder.

I can relate. I tell her about the frustration I used to experience when Dr. Joe and LA would give me such huge pats on the back for achievements that seemed so trivial compared to others in my life. For years I received positive feedback for things like earning a Master's degree, receiving a promotion early in my career, succeeding in athletics, winning prestigious awards. When the positive feedback was suddenly tied to such minute tasks as eating a meal or going a day without purging, I felt my life had been reduced down to such insignificance that it was not worth the effort I was putting into it.

I'm not sure what it was, but something I said resonated with Skeleton Girl. She finally looked up from her lap and gave me a half-hearted smile. So that's what group therapy is all about. Suddenly, I understood.

After an hour and a half of eating disorder talk, I was more than ready to jump off the couch when Counselor A decided to wrap things up. I had already been in to see both Dr. Joe and LA earlier in the day, and I had officially reached my therapy threshold. I tossed my coffee cup in the trash and bolted out the door. As I was pulling out of the parking lot, I realized I had left without exchaging information with Cute Jeans Girl (a potential new friend! I love those!). I pulled back into the parking lot, but she had already left. I instantly regretted not talking to her after the meeting.

Shit. I guess this means I will have to come back and attend another one.

So the Group Therapy Experiment was ok. I will rate it an even-keel five on a scale of one to ten. On the way home, I went over the conversations in my head. I did get some positive reinforcement and ideas from the counselors and other group members, even though Cute Jeans Girl and I hijacked the conversation. While I prefer my individual sessions with Dr. Joe and LA, I decide to file the support group away as a potential tool for the future. I don't think I will ever become a card-carrying devotee, but it may provide a good sofa to sit on when times get really tough or I feel the need to bitch about the latest ED-inspired challenge.

As for my other appointments today, they can best be described as "eh". I was not really in a mood to talk a lot after an ED episode last night, and Dr. Joe had decided to really pull out the big guns and "get serious" with me today. This was followed up with a body image/ body distortion conversation in LA's office, during which I outright denied my body dysmorphia and explained that I still think everyone is lying to me about how skinny I am. Over the entire weekend, I squinted to see what others are seeing, but just couldn't. I guess it really doesn't matter, as I've been told again and again to just trust the team, but I still slip back into this thinking from time to time and have to be pulled back into the boat.

Both appointments were followed up with phone calls, which is never a good sign. About an hour after leaving LA's office I had to call her after a "binge" (again, relative term...) in my kitchen. I had come home from both appointments emotionally drained and slightly hungry, which led me to rip through the refrigerator and cabinets in search of anything my body craved. I had downed a few flaxseed tortilla chips, a string cheese, some hummus, and a small container of caramel Greek yogurt and was instantly filled with enormous guilt.

About an hour after that, Dr. Joe called and we had a follow-up conversation about our earlier appointment. He had told me during the appointment that he can tell I am struggling despite working hard at recovery, and that he thinks I may be in a little bit of denial about the potential severity of the current medical situation. I tearfully told him this made me feel like I am failing despite my efforts. He corrected me by saying (in his calm and soothing voice) that there is a difference between struggling and failing, and that I am in no way failing or letting him down. This was music to my perfectionist ears, and gave me the motivation to keep fighting.

As for tomorrow, it's Scope Day. Procedure will be at 3:00 tomorrow, and I will be out cold for the rest of the day. I'll spare you the incoherent thoughts and stay the hell away from the laptop until the drugs have worn off.

Wish me luck...

An Early Thanksgiving Dinner

2010-10-24T20:13:00.000-07:00

This is the second Sunday evening in a row on which I do not need to prepare to go to work tomorrow, begin another over-booked week, or iron a set of dress clothes. I'm about to begin the second half of my two-week leave from work, and continue working closely with LA and Dr. Joe. This week also brings the dreaded endoscopy (scope) procedure with GI Guy and a Dr. K appointment (not so dreaded).

As for the weekend, things were pretty casual. I shopped with running friends yesterday for a bit, saw "Life As We Know It" with The Mr. last night, and took a lot of much-needed naps (I can definitely tell my body is revolting and in need of some rest). As for today, we just returned home from an annual family gathering this evening, held about an hour away from where we live. The Mr.'s grandmother escapes the midwestern winters by hopping on the highway and taking off for her Floridian condo around this time each year, so we always have Thanksgiving a month early so she can be included in (er, prepare) the feast.

I know the holidays will be here quickly (thank you, Target...I know Christmas shopping is the first thing on my mind the second Labor Day has passed), and I can't help but remember a goal I set for myself many months ago: to have a grip on my eating disorder before the holidays so I could truly enjoy the food and festivities. While I still have several months to go (and thus, this goal is still within reach), it has become evident to me that recovery is not as quick and painless as I had first anticipated.

I remember first meeting Dr. Joe. He said to me after that initial appointment back in July: "I want you to be patient with this process. We'll re-evaluate in six months and see where we are at that time."

I remember thinking "This guy is a damn fool. Give me a month and I'll have this thing kicked."

Well, here we are, nearly four months later and prepping me for an early family Thanksgiving meal requires the careful, intentional, and detailed planning of a military operation. Granted, it is not "technically" the holidays yet, I have encountered far more ups and downs during recovery than anyone could have anticipated, and no one expects a girl to go from learning how to eat again to pigging out on a pan of bread stuffing. But the sight of a turkey and the smell of pumpkin pie today reminded me that the holidays are around the corner (despite the fact that The Mr.'s family is a little ahead of the game), and therefore the goal I set for myself is creeping up...quickly.

Knowing this meal was on the calendar for today did throw me into a slight ED-inspired panic. I wasn't perfect (I fall short of this, if you recall...wink), but I did the best I could considering where I currently am in this process. Here's the recap:

7:00 am- While Dr. K has not cleared me for running just yet (she did not respond to an amusing email I sent her on Friday asking about it), I (stupidly) met a friend for a (fast) run this morning. I did this for all the wrong reasons (I'll admit it! Caught!): I wanted to exercise before going anywhere near the Thanksgiving food (as though just the smell of it may strip me of my muscle tone and turn me into a ball of goo), and I had taken 10 days off running already and missed it like hell. In my twisted mind, the fact that I had to ice my shin for an hour when I got home was a small price to pay for a run, and Dr. K will never know the difference. Wrong decision #1 for the day.

(Dr. K has never called me a perfect patient...so I don't have a reputation to live up to with her).

9:00 am- Made breakfast, one of my two usuals.

1:00 pm- The Mr. makes lunch. I pace in the kitchen. To eat or not to eat? LA would want me to eat. I do not want to eat. I am panicked about the looming family dinner. I finally grab a very small snack because I know I should. I know skipping a meal is a major sin right now; that is an ED Recovery 101 no-brainer. I shove the guilt out of my head. Wrong decision #2 of the day.

4:00 pm- We arrive at the family gathering, and I am hit in the face with the smell of roasted turkey and ham the moment we open the door. Bring on the usual comments (I am used to them by now, especially from the older relatives): "Oh my gosh, M! Do you eat?" and "You seem to shrink every time I see you! You don't have a thing left to lose! We need to get some pie in you today!". Other times I get the "You look amazing! You have lost so much weight!" and I think to myself: Thank you! But my insides are falling apart, I have to pay someone to teach me to eat food like a normal person, and I can't live my life because of my preoccupation with nutritional information! And you think you want to look like this? Yeah...it's not as fun as it looks!

5:00 pm- The buffet is set. The Mr.'s stepbrother takes his reserved place as the first in line and starts to dig in. Everyone is filling the small bowls with salad, then returning for a large plate of the other "real" food. I scan the table of food. There are things I want, but I know I would not be able to psychologically handle it if I went overboard or felt as though I "binged" (which, at this point, is really just eating like a normal person). However, I am torn between wanting to eat according to my current comfort level and warding off the "You don't eat a thing! Just dig in for god's sake!" comments I seem to regularly receive at events such as this one. This inner conflict is a familiar one, as I have had to strike the perfect balance between eating like a normal person and still sticking to my comfort level many, many times both in the throes of my eating disorder and now in refeeding and recovery.

Last week, during a conversation about this conflict, LA said to me "You have to realize almost everyone has an issue with food. When people make comments about what you are eating, they are projecting their own issues and beliefs about food onto you."

I know my mind cannot yet handle eating mounds of mashed potatoes, or a plate filled to the sides with gravy-laden stuffing. I am aware of the fact that even a few bites of sweet potato casserole will force me to fight the urge to purge for hours after we leave. I'm just not there yet, but that doesn't mean I won't be in the future.

While standing there in front of the overflowing table of food, I suddenly decide people should take their own personal issues with food and shove them up their asses. Bring on the comments; I'm ready for them. No one but me knows exactly how tough this battle has been for me, and I have to trust the experts who are telling me to fix it the correct way. Gone are the days in which I ate something to prevent the "Why do you always eat so healthy?"comments, only to end up in the bathroom purging and wrecking my body.

With LA's encouraging voice in my head, I pass over the small bowls and grab for a larger plate. I go against the grain (rebel!) and fill half of the large plate with salad. I fill the other half with small amounts of only the indulgences I really, really want. I avoided the foods that lead me to question the ingredient list, obsess over hidden salt, sugar, or butter, or would cause extreme guilt. I'm just not there yet. I need to do what I can handle.

As I sit down at the table, I notice one of my husband's relatives scanning my plate. Through her eyes, she is watching a very skinny girl eat a plate half-filled with salad and probably wondering to herself whether or not I ever indulge, and if she needs to be worried. I see that look from people often. While the worry would certainly be justified, I know better than anyone that my situation is much more than what meets the eye. Sure, I am battling an eating disorder; their assumption is correct. But what they don't know is that I am closer to the end of the battle than the beginning.

Big family meals are eating disorder landmines, and the upcoming months will contain many of them thanks to our many families (divorce creates multiple families, don't ya know?). While my original goal was to be eating normally for the holidays, today was a bit of a trial run. It reminded me I have work to do (I still desperately want to purge tonight's meal even though I made the healthiest choices possible given the situation), and that fully recovering may not fall on a perfect timeline no matter what goals I have set for myself.

Tonight marks the halfway point for my two-week leave from work. Regardless of whether or not the "Holiday Recovery Goal" is met in the near future, this time off has helped me to make significant progress towards getting my life back.

Thanks to our crazy families, there will be several more Thanksgiving meals over the next month or so. This may have been the first round of Anorexia vs. Thanksgiving Dinner, but it will most certainly not be the last.

Cooking Dinner Again

2010-10-22T21:28:00.000-07:00

Years ago, I actually enjoyed cooking. Close friends recall a time during which I used to prepare elaborate meals, cater parties, and watched the Food Network until noon on weekend mornings to learn about how to prepare healthy and unique meals. I found stress relief in chopping up mounds of vegetables, trying to make traditional recipes "healthy", and sipping on glass after glass of wine while stirring up something incredible in the kitchen.

Somewhere along the line, this passion faded. When I started to feel an unfounded and extreme guilt for nourishing my body, our refrigerator became a hell of a lot emptier and the homecooked meals became few and far between.

My anorexia is not solely to blame for this shift, as The Mr. and I shared meals less frequently when he started taking graduate school classes in the evenings. The conflict in our schedules made it easier for me to hide my growing obsession with starvation, and I began using my alone time to over-exercise and forego dinners. I can remember many, many nights during which I would return home after spending three hours working out intensely at the gym and force myself to go to sleep immediately, ignoring hunger pains as I felt for my ribs and hip bones under the covers.

Only this week have I begun to recall the enjoyment I used to receive from preparing meals. Having now experienced the struggle of an eating disorder, I do not think I will ever have a "normal" relationship with food. However, LA has singlehandedly helped to ease the anxiety surrounding preparing and enjoying meals this week.

Twice this week, I have prepared full meals for The Mr. and I. Sure, I approach meal preparation as any recovering anorexic would: I need to keep the meals as "clean" as possible, stick to small portion sizes, and create combinations using only my "safe" food list. Nevertheless, I am slowly dusting off the kitchen appliances I thought I had forgotten how to use.

Tonight was no exception. I had already forewarned The Mr. that we would be having one of LA's suggestions this evening for dinner, and he was (honestly) not thrilled at first. Earlier in the week, LA had told me about her vegetarian tacos, explaining that she replaces the meat with a mixture of black beans and corn (seasoned like taco meat). I would not consider myself a full-fledged vegetarian, although I am about as close as one can get without the actual label, so this sounded rather appealing to me. After talking about this meal with her, I realized I could recreate it using all "safe" foods of mine, so I decided to bust out the cookware that has been collecting dust in the kitchen and give it a shot.

I poured a (giant) glass of wine, and got to work. I sliced open avocados and scooped out the soft center. I chopped up a bushel of cilantro and took in a mild, fragrant scent I haven't experienced in over a year. I quickly diced up tomatoes with the knife skills I learned years ago when I worked as a creative assistant for a catering company, and I nibbled on some cheddar cheese shreds before placing a mound in a serving dish I had forgotten I even owned. I set the table with our matching dishes (something I used to fuss over), and called The Mr. to the table to try something new.

He was hesistant at first, looking skeptically at the meatless mixture he was expected to roll up in a corn tortilla. But, driven by hunger, he dug in anyhow. I watched him load his tortilla up with lots of condiments(probably to cover up the taste of the foreign bean/corn mixture).

He ate three tacos. I had two, and ate them slowly, taking in all the flavors I'm learning to love again. We refilled our wine glasses until the bottle was empty. And I, once again, was provided with a bittersweet glimpse of how life used to be; before food became my enemy.

I vow to thank LA for reminding me that food is something to be enjoyed, and not something to be feared.

The eating disordered response to tonight's dinner is not obsolete; I still feel as though I overate (I did not...not even close) and purging has crossed my mind. I started to add up the ingredients' calories in my head like I have done so many times before. I regretted not using reduced-fat cheddar cheese, and obsessed over whether or not the taco seasoning mix contained too much sodium. I have stood in front of the mirror several times this evening and tried to grab "fat" that I swear is there, but have to trust is not. These thoughts will probably always haunt me, but at least I am learning to rationalize them, brush them off as distorted, and move on.

This past week, I prepared dinner using my "safe" foods twice. Next week, I want to meet this goal again, and perhaps aim for three complete meals. I'm beginning to actually like cooking again. It will take some time until I can cook without overanalyzing the ingredient list or eliminating "unsafe" components. But as long as The Mr. is willing to put up with a few uber-healthy meals, I think I may begin to spend a little more time in the kitchen in the coming weeks.

In other news, I received a sad email from LA this evening. I was scheduled to meet with her tomorrow morning, however, she and her family have been forced to move out of their home due to smoke damage from a house fire. While missing my appointment with her would normally throw my Type-A personality into a tailspin, the situation at hand motivates me to do well this weekend without her. LA has done so much to help me throughout this process that I owe it to her to pull myself up, work through my own emotions related to food, and make progress independently. I would love to meet with her on Monday and be able to tell her that I ate well, avoided purging, and took some chances on my own. And I am, of course, thinking of her and her family...I can only imagine how stressful and upsetting such an experience can be. She believes so strongly in me that I cannot help but send lots and lots of positivity her way during this time.

I think a celebratory "I Beat Anorexia" party at my house is just around the corner. Perhaps I'll even prep all the food, just like old times.

It's long overdue, is it not?

Day 4 Intensive: Appointment Overload

2010-10-21T20:16:00.000-07:00

Today didn't end much differently than it started...I am drained and exhausted, and still feeling a bit bratty. Having three back-to-back doctor's appointments (all related to the eating disorder repair and recovery process) makes my day job seem like a resort vacation. Anyone who thinks my time off has been a relaxing little stroll in the park thus far has never spent hours upon hours with medical professionals dissecting a year's worth of eating disorder behaviors and their side effects.

If recovery can be compared to a long journey, today was a little like treading through the swamp waters.

Appointment #1: Dr. Joe, 12:00 PM

Dr. Joe and I were not even close to connecting today, and that was partially my fault. I had subconciously (and probably falsely) decided before even arriving at his office that he doesn't really give a damn about me (just collecting a paycheck), thinks I'm the neediest client he has ever had, and that I did not want to open up and talk to him anymore.

So I just sat on the sofa and cried.

I sipped on a Smoothie King peanut butter banana smoothie and got defensive when he asked if that were my lunch (it is actually allowed to be my lunch given my esophagus issues at the moment, so I wasn't technically being a brat). I gave one word answers and don't remember looking at him even once (I usually remember which marathon race shirt he was wearing during each appointment, but I didn't even make note of that today).

He tells me to call or email him after my appointment with the GI specialist later on this afternoon. I say ok, but secretly think to myself, "Ha! So you won't respond back?". He asks what I have been working on with LA, and I want to scream "Why don't you call her and find out? She thinks I'm making great progress!"

Towards the end of the appointment, I start to unload on him a bit, tears pouring down my face. I tell him I'm pissed at myself for the damage I've caused to my once-strong body, that I am starting to feel as though no one really cares if I get better or not, that very few people understand the amount of effort and work I am putting into getting better, and that I'm just tired and want to go back to bed.

I left his office angry and upset. I received an email from him later in the day that read: "We'll regroup to get through this. Need to move forward, not back. One step at a time."

When I read his words, I realized being a closed-off brat was probably unjustified. I vowed to make the next appointment a bit more productive. The truth is, I do need Dr. Joe to help me get past this.

Appointment #2: LA, 2:00 PM

Like the tuned in mother-type that she is, LA could tell I was upset when I arrived at her office. We chatted for a bit about why I was so distant with Dr. Joe. We agreed he is a guy (this does trump his Ph.D in psychology...in the end, he is really just a guy) and guys don't understand the level of encouragement and support we women need on an almost daily basis. We bond over our female-ness. She says she will tell him to quit being a boy the next time they speak. I am reminded why I adore LA.

LA is beyond impressed with my food intake yesterday. She is actually rendered speechless when I tell her I swapped out some of my usual foods for other options (for example, Kashi Mediterranean pizza instead of my usual grilled chicken/rice/veggies dinner). During past periods of initial refeeding, I have stuck to the same exact list of foods (no thought required) day in and day out. I'm starting to move past that stage, making subtle substitutions on my own. She sees big progress, and can't stop smiling. She tells me she will bring cotton candy and cookies to our Saturday morning meeting. I tell her to chill out and not get carried away.

Both yesterday and today, LA and I have had deep conversations about my relationship with food, my body, and how/when the eating disorder really started to take over. Today, she helped me arrive at several conclusions: 1. I generally purge when I feel I need to "start over" for the day, erase a mistake, or get angry at myself for not being more "disciplined"; 2. I allowed myself to starve in an effort to start over and rebuild my body in a more perfect form, which is indicative of my personality. The only problem is that I did not want to rebuild (gain weight in any way, shape, or form) once I had reached the bottom ; 3. I have always been a healthy eater, so even in the later stages of refeeding, my weight gain will probably not be significant; and 4. There is a very good possibility that I will come back stronger, faster, and better than ever after restoring a positive eating routine once again.

I left LA's feeling revived. But then...

Appointment #3: Gastrointestinal Specialist (hereafter referred to as "GI Guy"), 3:15 PM

Here is the moment I've been dreading all day, and probably the underlying reason for my brattiness: meeting GI Guy to talk about the physical damage within my body, the reason for the intense pain that most recently sent me to the ER.

Hot Doctor in the ER, as well as Dr. K, already warned me that an endoscopy (scope) is in my immediate future. Dr. Joe also enjoys using the looming scope as a scare tactic (Dr. Joe: "You're 28 and you need an endoscopy...that's some scary shit"). Needless to say, the fact that GI Guy wants to shove a camera down my throat and stomach is not a surprise at this point in the game.

The surprise came in the form of the educational video I had to watch about the endoscopy. After taking my vitals, the medical assistant clicks the remote control to bring up a video about the procedure we will be scheduling for me. She leaves me alone in the room to face the horror that unfolds on the screen.

I cannot watch it. I begin to text Mama K frantically. Then, I email LA. Text some other friends. Hell no...not doing this. F&#k the scope. Dr. Joe is right...this is some scary shit.

By the time GI Guy enters the room, I have been reduced to a puddle of emotion. I shake his hand, and he ignores the tears (another guy move...LA may have to call this one up, too). We go through the procedure step by step, and I have to recount every excrutiating minute of my purging espisodes so he knows exactly what he is getting himself into with me. His words are passing in and out of my head without comprehension, but I latch on to random phrases here and there:

"...in patients who binge/purge..."

Me: "Um, I do not binge. Ever. I'm anorexic- purging subtype." I have no idea why I feel offended that he assumed I binge, or why on earth I felt driven to correct him. Either way, I'm a broken, 28-year old girl with a history of some pretty self-destructive behavior patterns. Is the exact label important? Probably not.

The next few moments are surreal: me talking about my eating disorder behaviors as though they belong to someone else. I am answering his questions about caloric intake, purging behaviors, post-purging behaviors, and asked to describe the exact procedure I have used time and time again to bring up the digested food from my stomach. It feels so wrong to disclose this private and sacred information; as if my clothes are being ripped off and I'm naked for the world to see.

GI Guy is blunt with me. He says he feels he will, in fact, find signs of some pretty severe damage to my digestive tract. He asks if I have any questions. I shake my head no, and am sent out to schedule the Procedure From Hell.

Tuesday, October 26 at 3:00. The endoscopy awaits.

Which means I have three days to forget all about it and pretend this isn't happening.

Being a Brat Today

2010-10-21T08:05:00.000-07:00

I think every girl working intensely with a treatment team reaches a point where she reverts back to the bratty teenage version of herself. Today, the mature, positive, pleasant version of myself did not get out of bed. But the bratty, rebellious, defiant 15-year old did. The nice thing about being in eating disorder therapy is that it is perfectly acceptable to take this version of myself to my appointments today, as it will allow LA and Dr. Joe to "explore" what is currently going on with my emotional side.

But wouldn't it be nice if it were acceptable to take this version of ourselves to work, to meetings, to a family gatherings? Maybe it would take away some of the pressure we all feel to be "mature", "put on our happy faces", and "play nice."

Although most of us would end up in timeout and nothing productive would come of that.

I usually don't blog before my appointments, but I am, as stated earlier, feeling like a brat today. I don't know why, and I don't really care. I do not have to be the perfect patient all the time, and today I have chosen to throw a little bit of a tantrum. I'm entitled to. I've been a good girl for the last three days, and now I can be a brat if I want to be.

Hmph.

Here are some of the reasons I am feeling bratty today:

1. Dr. Joe wants me to bring my lunch to his appointment. I don't want to eat in front of him, and I won't be able to talk if I'm eating. And he is paid to get me to talk. Seems counterproductive to me.

(I still have yet to decide if I'm taking my lunch to his office, and I have to leave in about 15 minutes. This will be a last-minute decision).

2. The Mr. implied I was being a bum this morning when I just wanted to lie in bed. Um, hel-lo...last time I checked I've been working my butt off to fight off physical pain, play with plastic food, and ward off the demons that tell me not to eat dinner. It's been a rough week so far, I can lie in bed if I want to (love you, The Mr! I know he reads this blog sometimes...) :)

3. I am supposed to email Dr. Joe if/when I have to go to the ER or experience anything out of the ordinary. I followed the rules and fired off an email to him when I was leaving the ER two nights ago. In it, I told him I was scared and this seems very real right now. He never wrote back. This confirms the Voo-Doo Doll Theory I referred to yesterday. I don't want to talk to Dr. Joe today. He sucks.

4. Yesterday's assignment from LA was to go 24 hours without thinking about food. In plain speak, I was supposed to just eat what I wanted within my own house (because I know all the foods we keep are healthy and safe). I did just that. But today I am obsessing over the fact that I probably did not eat enough fruits and vegetables during that 24-hour timeframe. I think that counts as "thinking about food", so I probably just failed that challenge. Damn.

5. My dog is obnoxious and does not let me rest. I want to send him to doggie day camp for the remainder of my leave, I no longer care about the price.

6. I really, really, really want to run. I've continued to cycle, lift, and swim this week, but I'm over it. I am a runner. Runners need to run.

7. The GI specialist I am meeting with at 3:15 is probably going to have me come back for the actual scope procedure, which means I will have to fork over my $30 copay twice. I hate it when they pull that. Greedy, money-sucking assholes.

8. I miss my work friends and I hate knowing they are in the office and I am not. I'm probably not missing a damn thing, but I love them all the same and am starting to miss the day-to-day ridiculousness that is my crazy office. LA and Dr. Joe are my BFFs this week, and I'm not sure that is a healthy thing for any of us to continue...good thing there is a two-week window for this bonding time.

Please do not interpret my throwback teenage angst as a slip into negativity. Somewhere inside I remain positive about this process, know I am doing what I should be doing, and am making huge progress. I just want to be a brat today.

You can almost hear the foot stomping, door slamming, and "f##k you, I hate you and never want to talk to you again!"'s, now can't you?

Off to share my angst with the doctors. Good thing they can take it in stride and they have no ability whatsoever to ground me. I guess they should be happy I'm not perfect all the time...isn't that what we're working on, anyhow?

Spending the Night in the ER

2010-10-20T06:22:00.000-07:00

Well, the title of this post just oozes with optimism, now doesn't it? But somehow, despite spending roughly five hours in the emergency room last night, I still remain overwhelmingly positive about my recovery. There really is no turning back now.

Around midnight, my sleep (a rather sound one, too) was broken by the intense burning in my throat and esophagus, and the ever-enjoyable feeling of a knife stabbing me in the back. These are precisely the excrutiating symptoms I had been feeling before, and this time we followed Dr. K's advice and headed for the ER.

Given that I am a pretty tough person (thanks to years of sports, a tough-skinned father, and some brutal "I- don't-care-about-the-pain-just-do-it" coaches), I have had very few visits to the ER during my 28 years. I am more inclined to sit on a very serious injury or illness for a long period of time rather than to rush in to the ER or to a doctor for help.

I should note that this is exactly the mentality that perpetuates my eating disorder. Hunger pains? Just ignore 'em and go run 13 miles! Lightheaded from no food? That's ok, you're super woman, remember?! That shooting pain in your shin? Your bones aren't fracturing, just suck it up!

Yeah. It's working real well for me, let me tell ya.

I digress. Back to the ER visit...

I sign the clip board (M., age 28, anorexic- purging subtype, severe esophageal and back pain,) and am taken back immediately. Given my naivety related to the Ways of the ER, I think to myself: "Awesome, I don't even have to wait. In minutes I'll be lying down and pumped with painkillers to make this hell go away."

The nurse takes my blood pressure and temperature. She asks me to rate the pain on a scale of 1-10. Despite the stabbing sensation in my back, the fact that I am seconds from vomiting on the floor, and can hardly sit up straight, I tell her "um, maybe like a 5?". The Mr. shoots me a look of death. He knows I have no concept of pain, and my response is grossly underestimated.

"Ok, you can have a seat in the waiting room."

Well, shit. So I'm not being seen right away. Should've known better.

We take a seat amongst the late-night ER crowd: the college girl wrapped in a blanket who looks like she has gone days without so much as brushing her hair, the child screaming in Spanish to her mother, the wheel-chair bound older woman passed out with her mouth open.

The pain hits me hard. I instantly regret telling the nurse it was only a 5 on the stupid scale of 1-10. I get angry at them for even using that godforsaken subjective system of evaluating pain. I imagine the hoards of people with runny noses who have entered the ER and proclaimed "It's a ten!" to be moved up a few spots before me on the triage list. I decide I played that hand wrong. Crap.

Many, many curse words and an hour later, I am finally taken back to a room. I curl up in a ball on the bed while The Mr. tries to finagle the gown to fit me. He gives up and just throws it on top of me to cover my body.

Enter Hot Doctor. Great, I think. I have to tell Hot Doctor all about my stomach issues. He asks the standard set of questions, and comes to the one I never know how to answer (and I doubt any anorexic, bulimic, or EDNOS patient does): "Any vomiting recently?"

"Um, like intentionally or unintentionally?" I'm not sure if he has read the clipboard and seen "anorexia- purging subtype" written next to my name.

He looks puzzled. "Um...I guess just vomiting at all?" (He clearly has not seen the clipboard).

"Yes. Some intentional, some unintentional." I leave it at that. He makes some notes and then leaves the room.

When he returns it is my chance to explain this whole thing. I tell him I am normally not the type of person to just run into the ER for pain, but that Dr. K has requested I do so. I explain the pain I'm in as best I can, trying to fight the urge to downplay it (my natural reaction). They do some chest X-rays, hook me up with an amazing little concoction that numbs my esophagus the whole way down, and an anti-nausea medication. I pass out on the bed.

Several hours later, I am discharged, referred to the GI specialist I am seeing Thursday anyhow, and told to get in touch with Dr. K. The pain had subsided for the most part, and I was free to go home and curl up in my own bed.

As I sit here blogging, the burning has stopped. However, the sharp back pain continues and this is Dr. K's main concern. When it comes on, it comes on strong and it is not easily sent away.

Despite the pain, trip to the ER, and overall fatigue I'm feeling from that experience, I still remain optimistic today. I plan to pop some painkillers and head off to see LA this afternoon no matter what. I've emailed Dr. K and Dr. Joe to keeep them in the loop (although they will probably get the medical records from the ER anyhow) and we'll go from there.

This time, I'm not being knocked down. Sure, there are many physical signs of the abuse my body has endured in the last year, and they need to be dealt with. But I intend to keep moving forward and using this time to break free of my eating disorder for good this time.

I also secretly imagine Dr. Joe sitting at home, jabbing a voo-doo doll in the back with a pushpin, thinking to himself: "I don't want her to forget just yet!"

Bastard!

Day 2 Intensive: Double Teamed

2010-10-19T14:30:00.000-07:00

Today I felt a little like a child of divorce going between homes. Dr. Joe jokes at times that I play him and LA as though they are my parents (running to one about something the other said, going to the one whose support style matches what I am looking for at that moment, and so forth), and today was no exception.

Though I am in constant contact with both of them almost daily (and they are in contact with one another about me), I rarely see them back-to-back. But since we're hitting the therapy hard these next two weeks, I had the pleasure of working with both of them within a three hour time span.

Today was, overall, another productive day. I can see myself really starting to break free of the eating disorder cycle and create some new patterns.

Appointment #1: Dr. Joe, 12:00 PM

Today I saw a side of Dr. Joe I have never really seen before: he seemed extremely concerned, worried, and serious. On the way down the stairs to his office, he said to me: "where is your lunch?"

Me: "Um, I don't have a lunch with me. You didn't tell me to bring a lunch today." I had been planning to stop by Subway on the way to LA's office.

Dr. Joe: "I thought that was the plan- you were going to eat lunch here?" (I was not aware of this plan...I think he thought he had mentioned this previously, but did not).

Me: "Ok, I will bring it with me on Thursday." I shrug.

I take my usual spot on the couch. I pull my knees up to my chest and sit like a kid, like I always do. I've been here so many times it has started to feel a little like home.

"I'm concerned about your teeth," he starts. Dr. Joe rarely talks about the physical side effects of my eating disorder, unless he has spoke with Dr. K or seen a red flag on my labs and medical records. To date, no one has examined my teeth, so this catches me off guard.

"Okay..." I look at him, puzzled. I am aware of the dental problems that can result from purging, but I have yet to experience any issues and had already planned to see a dentist...soon. I'm not in denial, it's just that other physical side effects have taken priority. I planned to deal with the teeth in time.

I sit there for a moment, with my closed food journal resting next to me on the sofa. Dr. Joe tells me to open it. I do what he says. He gets up, grabs a bright yellow post-it note and hand it to me. He sits back down, leaning forward on the front on his chair and looking me dead in the eye.

"You are feeling better, right?"

I nod.

"I want to make sure you never, ever forget the pain you were in last week." His tone is the most serious I have ever heard, and he is still looking me straight in the eye. "I was extremely concerned. I still am. You are not out of this yet, but you need to always remember how bad it got."

Dr. Joe then told me to write the following words on the yellow post-it note: PAIN, BLOOD, FRACTURE, HOSPITAL, SICKNESS, SCOPE. He tells me to keep the yellow post-it note front and center in the food journal.

I placed it on the inner front cover. Dr. Joe and I talked a great deal after that serious moment. But to be honest, I don't remember much of our appointment except for that exchange.

That was probably his goal. He intends to never, ever let me forget the seriousness of what I am battling...and that's why he's an amazing doctor.

Appointment #2: LA, 2:00 PM

When I get to LA's office, she is coming up the stairs with an empty bowl and spoon. Without thinking, I say to her, "what did you have for lunch?"

LA: "Wait...you're asking me what I had for lunch?" She laughs, but tells me anyhow. It sounds healthy enough. I decide to let her off the hook. I tell her I had Subway. She is pleased.

I pull out my notebook. LA ignores the graphic yellow post-it note on the front as I flip to my homework assignment, a page I titled "My Rules About Food." This list reveals fourteen "rules" I have somehow developed about food; the rules I have rigidly adhered to throughout the past year.

These rules have led me to eating disorder destruction, sickness, bodily harm. These rules have destroyed my confidence, brought me to a place of such extreme darkness, and whittled my body down to nothingness.

I read them to LA one by one. She is quiet for a moment. There it was...the rules of my eating disorder hung between us. We both knew, without saying a word, that the only way to restore me to health was to begin to break the fourteen rules I have followed for months and months, one by one. It will not be easy. But at least we now have a list from which to work.

The details of the conversation that happened thereafter are not important, and I have chosen not to disclose the rules within my blog (for some reason, it is an incredibly personal piece of information I'm not sure I can ever share outside of my very close inner circle). So I will leave you with this positive note:

When I left LA's office, I had to go grocery shopping. Grocery shopping has become a very robotic activity for me during the last several months. After I had eventually restricted my diet down to about a half dozen items, the process of buying food didn't require much thought. I just bought the items The Mr. requested for himself, and that was that.

Given that I had the time to do so (the whole not working thing, if you recall), I decided to actually look around the store and try some new things. I did something I haven't done for about a year: I planned out a few meals for The Mr. and I. I kept them simple and mostly comprised of my "safe" ingredients...but meals nonetheless.

I tossed in about six new items. I used my Blackberry and emailed LA from the check-out line to share with her the new items I was bringing home. I texted Mama K too. And then I called The Mr. and told him I would be cooking dinner tonight when I get home from teaching a class at the gym.

Only those who have watched me try to overcome this can truly appreciate the accomplishment and growth represented by those extra food items in the cart. It sounds absolutely ridiculous, but it was hard to fight back tears while standing there in the checkout line. I can see an end to this. I'm starting to break free.

Day 1 Intensive: Play Date with Fake Food

2010-10-18T12:35:00.000-07:00

Here we are...Monday and Day One of intensive work with the team over the next two weeks.

This morning, I woke up, showered, threw on jeans, my favorite long-sleeved t-shirt, glasses, beloved North Face jacket, and running shoes. I have to admit, despite the way I dress in my professional life, I am much more in tune with my tomboy side, and dressing this way for the next two weeks falls in the "positives of treatment" column.

LA's office is located in a wellness facility that also includes a gym, so it's familiar territory for me. I enjoy going there because I have grown to trust her, can be completely open about my fear of weight and foods, and she respects me a great deal for my drive and insistence on kicking this disorder. This morning, we caught up a bit at first: her relaying information from Dr. K in exchange for my account of the weekend and how I've been feeling. She tells me I look totally different in my glasses, I ask her about her weekend (which consisted of swiping the credit card repeatedly to purchase all the necessary items for her girls' upcoming formal dances). Then, we get down to business.

LA grabs a giant box from the corner of her office and sets it on the desk, brushing away the dust that had settled on the top (LA no longer works exclusively with eating disorder patients now that she is at the wellness center, so it's probably been awhile since this magic box has made an appearance). She opens it up and pulls out plastic versions of the following: a slice of cherry pie, a chocolate chip cookie, a baked potato, an orange, a glass of orange juice, strawberries, a slice of wheat bread, and a rather disgusting looking pile of pasta. I know by looking at them that the theme of the day is carbohydrates.

The sight of the rubbery imitation pasta makes me want to hurl immediately. I start cracking up. Then LA starts cracking up. She tells me to imagine the pasta is of a whole grain variety, thinking this will help me accept the pasta model. I can't stop laughing...it is the worst imitation of a plate of pasta I've ever seen. She agrees with me, shoves it back in the box, and pulls out a pile of equally-disgusting fake brown rice.

"Ok...we'll use this instead. How's that?"

It looks like a pile of vomit to me, but I agree to let it go and move on.

LA asks me to separate the plastic food into two groups: what I would eat, and what I would not. I immediately move the cookie and slice of cherry pie to the side. I hesitate for a minute, and eventually move the baked potato over to join them. I ask her if the orange juice has added sugar. She says no. I decide it is acceptable.

"I'd eat it all except for those." I point to the offending desserts and the baked potato.

I know what is coming next. I now have to explain my decisions. I tell her I immediately moved the desserts because I have no idea what is in them, therefore no idea how many calories they contain. The amount of sugar in them freaks me out too. It's just easier to say no to them, as my mind starts to go into overdrive trying to process through their nutritional content. She nods. She knows how my mind works at this point.

The baked potato surprises LA, though, so she probes. I just shrug on that one. It's been so long since I've eaten one, I guess I automatically moved it to the "no" group. Also, it is a white starch and I have forgotten the fact that potatoes actually carry a lot of nutrients. This illustrates her point exactly...I was unable to articulate why I moved the potato to the "no" side of the desk, so I immediately realize my decision to remove it was irrational.

LA turns to her computer and pulls up a nutritional breakdown of the baked potato. We go through it together. I see it is ok. I add baked potatoes back to my list of "acceptable foods"...and that's that.

Now on to the desserts...more complicated. We talk about the need for treats. We discuss my recent "binges" (in quotation marks because the term 'binge' is relative) and why they are happening. My body is craving sweets. It wants me to indulge a little from time to time. LA explains that the body doesn't care where the energy comes from, it just needs it; and that foods are simply chemical combinations and there are no "good" or "bad" foods. The foods on the desk before me are all just carbohydrates that will eventually be turned into glucose by the body. I cautiously agree with her, remembering this from my personal training studies.

I decide cookies are probably okay now. But the pie is out. I'm not eating that jelly-like filling crap. No thanks. Maybe after a few more play dates with her plastic food.

LA tells me her strategy on handling treats, and I decided to adopt it as my own. She indulges, but makes sure that when she does, it's worth it. For example, if LA is going to eat a cookie, she's going to eat a damn good cookie (not a Chips A'Hoy, if you get what I'm saying) and gets a gourmet one or makes a batch herself. She treats herself daily, but is a self-proclaimed food snob. I decide to do the same.

I'll begin to indulge a little, but only if I really want something and know I will enjoy it. And now it is Dr. Joe's turn to help me let go of the guilt associated with doing so and avoid purging...we'll tackle that during my appointment with him tomorrow.

LA gave me homework, too, and I will oblige because I like to learn, am a perfectionist, and want feel accomplished (it works in my favor at times). I have to 1. Go an entire week without checking labels or googling ingredients in the foods I decide to eat, and 2. Make a list of the statements that run through my mind related to food choices.

After my meeting with LA, I went into work just to teach my college orientation/ career exploration class (the only piece of my job I kept on the calendar this week). My students this semester are outgoing, energetic, and engaged, and today's activities provoked great conversation, debate, and interaction. For an hour, I forgot about what I am currently trying to overcome and just enjoyed their company. Those 28 college freshmen will never know that their instructor is battling an eating disorder, or have any sense of the motivational impact their laughter and jokes had on me today. I felt a little like myself again: creating community, kidding around with them, and helping them learn.

I also went to lunch with an extremely supportive friend, K, and her two kids and nephew. I planned ahead, ordered safe food, and unloaded some of my frustration and stress onto her (she didn't mind and was happy to listen).

I am now at home for the rest of the day, and plan to take a nap, read, and do my homework for tomorrow's meetings with LA and Dr. Joe. All in all, a successful Day One.

I'm just hoping we're done with the revolting plastic noodles and vomit-like brown rice pile for the rest of the week!

Panic Setting In

2010-10-17T20:56:00.000-07:00

It's Sunday night, which means I am in my usual spot on the sectional sofa in the basement, watching Sunday Night Football. After yet another Browns loss, it's nice to be able to watch my beloved backup team (the Colts) play textbook football against the Redskins. Hey, every Browns fan has to invest some energy into a second team, as it keeps us watching football long after the season appears to be "over" (that feeling sets in around Week #3 when you are a Browns fan).

This Sunday night feels strange to me, as I know I will not be going into the office tomorrow or tackling another crazy, jam-packed week. Instead, my calendar has been cleared with the exception of medical appointments, therapy appointments, and the daily work with LA.

This weekend has been a bit of a blur, as I'm still feeling a little beaten down physically and mentally. On Friday night we had dinner and drinks with our neighbors and friends. While we are all busy living our separate lives (popping out kids, working our jobs, being grown-ups), it was nice to touch base and catch up. I taught back-to-back classes at the gym on Saturday morning, ran a bunch of errands, met another friend to catch up, and took the dog for a long walk in the woods before becoming a vegetable and watching the OSU-Wisconsin game (for the record, I hate OSU). We also went to a late-night showing of the movie "Social Network" (thank you, Mark Zuckerberg for making "relationship status" and "poking" the conerstones of my generation's social interactions).

This morning involved a lifting/ swimming morning workout during which I felt like crap (and Dr. Joe watched it all unfold from a few lanes over, giving me that parental look of disapproval...I sometimes hate that we use the same gym), listened to my body, and surrenderred to the couch for the rest of the day to watch the NFL games.

Medical leave will begin tomorrow at 9:00 am. Instead of putting on my high heels, trying to cram as much as possible into a 12-hour day, and making the professional decisions I'm paid to make, I'll be fully engaged in eating disorder treatment and resting my deteriorating body. It's an odd feeling, and I am still talking myself into this decision even as it is lingering on the horizon.

One of the feelings that keeps creeping up is a sense of urgency. While I know the anxiety about getting better is probably self-induced, I can't help but feel that "this-is-your-last- shot" message from those in my life. I sense it from those I work with, my husband, and my close friends who have been watching my eating disorder take over my life. This pressure, whether real or sensed, motivates me at times, yet frustrates and cripples me during others. Many times this weekend, I found myself experiencing thinking "everyone in my life is going to walk away if I don't get it together immediately" or "my husband, friends, and coworkers cannot possibly put up with this much longer; I have two weeks to fix this".

Bring on the panic.

I may be sick. I may need to rest, but that doesn't mean my natural inner drive has been turned off like a light switch. Just as it has been the catalyst driving my eating disorder, I'm feeling an (unjustified) drive to overcome this quickly, to show others I can beat it, to restore a sense of normalcy to my life (and the lives of those around me) as soon as possible.

That is going to need to change, or else these two weeks are sure to end in disappointment.

I wish eating normally and having a balanced relationship with food was easy; I want nothing more than to indulge in life's pleasures (I really do), but it is a very slow and painful process. At times, I simply want to scream "it's not as easy as you think!" when people gently encourage me to have a slice of pizza, a few beers, some chips and salsa...I want to be normal. I really do. But it isn't going to happen overnight, and it certainly isn't going to happen over the next two weeks, especially given the physical challenges I currently face. I'm honestly not sure what to expect out of the next two weeks (although I highly doubt I'll be indulging in junk food or ripping up the "not acceptable" list of foods by the end of this leave), but I am hoping LA and Dr. Joe can help me set some realistic goals within the next few days...

...and get me to settle the f%&* down.

So what do I need from others right now? I'll just be blunt and say it:

1. Patience- It's didn't take me two weeks to get here, and it's going to take a hell of a lot longer to get better. I'll be working my hardest, but I'm after long-term success and recovery, not a temporary fix. Eating a slice of pizza is not a sign of progress if it is followed by extreme guilt and a burning desire to purge.

2. Understanding- I've been amazed by friends (or the small group I have trusted in confidence, anyhow) who have started to read up on eating disorders, watch documentaries, and ask questions. I can honestly say that striving for understanding and knowledge is the best way to support a loved one who is trying to be refed, learning to eat again, and tackling the psychological motivation behind the disorder. Those efforts mean the world to someone who is going through this because it's tough to verbalize it all the time...trust me!

3. Encouragement- Hey, when your own mind screams at you that you can't do anything, are nothing, and have failed miserably, you need a few positive comments to pull you up...at least until you can start to say them to yourself.

4. Hope- I am not myself right now. But I will be back soon. Just keep hanging on.

I am not perfect. If I were, I wouldn't be writing this blog, now would I? But I do give everything in my life my all, and I intend to do the same during my intensive treatment over the next two weeks.

Deep breath...here we go.